MABEL  BARNES-GRUNDY 


vmmmmim 


J 


7T^ 


DIMBIE  AND  I  —  and  amelia 


Maiiguekite 


DIMBIE    AND 

I 

AND    AMELIA 

BY 

MABEL    BARNES-GRUNDY 

Author  of  "  Hazel  of  Heatherland.'''' 

r 

I 

NEW  YORK 

GROSSET   &   DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 

Copyright,  1906 
By  The  Baker  &  Taylor  Company 

Copyright,  1907 
By  The  Baker  &  Tatlor  Company 


Published.  March,  1907 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I  PAGE 

Which  Introd¥Cbs  Dimbie 1 

CHAPTER  II 

N.\NTY  DlSCOUBSES  ON  THE  WRITING  OF  BoOKS       ...  9 

CHAFTER  III 
On  Amelia,  Flues,  and  Dbain-Bamboos 21 

CHAPTER  IV 
Dimbie's  Birthday 33 

CHAPTER  V 
A  Letter  From  Miss  Faikbrother 55 

CHAPTER  VI 

Sorrow  Overtakes  Me 64 

CHAPTER  VII 

Dr.  Renton  Breaks  Some  News  to  Me 74 

CHAPTER  VIII 

Dimbie  Comforts  Me        87 

CR\PTER  IX 
Amelia  Expresses  Her  Opinion  op  Me 95 

V 


Contents 

CHAPTER  X  PAGE 

I  Diacoviai  THAT  Dr.  Renton  is  in  Love        ....     103 

CHAPTER  XI 
Mt  First  Calx,er 112 

CHAPTER  Xn 
Nanty  Cheers  INIe  Up 124 

CHAPTER  XIII 

Under  the  Apple  Tree 135 

CHAPTER  XIV 

Mother  and  Peter  Arrhe  ox  a  Visit 147 

CHAPTER  XV 

Amelia  Gives  Me  Notice 157 

CHAPTER  XVI 
Forebodings 169 

CHAPTER  XVII 
My  Worst  Fears  are  RktVlised 177 

CHAPTER  XVni 
DiMBiE  Rolls  a  Great  Load  From  My  Heart   .     .     .     189 

CHAPTER  XIX 

We  Inherit  a  Fortune 203 

CHAPTER  XX 

Professor  Leighrail  Pays  Us  a  Call 217 

CIL\PTER  XXI 
Jane  Fairbrother's  Impexdixg  Visit 231 


Contents 

CHAPTER  XXII  PAGE 

A  Literary  Ladt  Honouks  Me  With  a  Visit     .     .     .    243 

CHAPTER  XXIII 
I  Surprise  Dr.  Renton's  Secret 258 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

Musings  on  Autumn  and  the  Arrival  of  Jane  .     .     .     271 

CHAPTER  XXV 
An  Engagement,  and  I  Tell  Jane  My  Story     .     .     .     281 

CHAPTER  XXVI 
DiMBiE  Takes  Peter  and  Amelia  in  Hand    ....     292 

CHAPTER  XXVII 
A  Discussion  About  a  Wedding  Gown 303 

CHAPTER  XXVin 
Preparations  for  a  Wedding 315 

CHAPTER  XXIX 
Jane's  Wedding 323 

CHAPTER  XXX 

The  Death  of  a  Little  Black  Chicken 340 

An  Afterword 345 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Marguerite Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

Peter    has    spent    his    spare    time    building 

CANOES 4 

Professor  Leighrail 48 

This  is  how  he  began 158 

Marguerite,  I  don't  want  to  frighten  you  .  174 

Your  will  will  always  be  mine,  Marguerite  .  214 


IK 


Dimbie    and    I  —  and    Amelia 

CHAPTER   I 

WHICH   INTRODUCES    DIMBIE 

OUTSIDE,  the  world  is  bathed  in   sunshine, 
beautiful,  warm,  life-gi^dng  spring  sunshine. 

Other  worlds  than  mine  may  be  shivering  in  a 
March  wind,  but  my  own.  little  comer  is  simply 
basking. 

The  chestnut  in  the  frog-pond  field  at  the  bottom 
of  the  garden  is  holding  forth  eager  arms,  crowned 
with  little  sticky,  swelling  buds,  to  the  white,  warm 
light.  The  snowdrops  and  crocuses  have  raised  their 
pretty  faces  for  a  caress,  and  a  chaffinch  perched  in 
the  apple  tree  is,  in  its  customary  persistent  fashion, 
endeavouring  to  outsing  a  thrush  who  keeps  in- 
forming his  lady-love  that  she  may  be  clever  enough 
to  lay  four  speckled  eggs,  but  her  voice,  well  — 
without  wisliing  to  be  too  personal  —  would  bear 
about  the  same  relation  to  his  as  the  croak  of  those 
silly  frogs  in  the  field  would  bear  to  the  note  of  his 
esteemed  friend  Mr.  Nightingale,  who  was  still 
wintering  in  the  south. 

1 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Yes,  there  is  sunsliine  out  of  doors  and  sunshine 
in  my  heart.  So  much  sunshine,  that  in  my  exuber- 
ance I  have  only  just  refrained  from  embracing 
Ameha,  in  spite  of  her  down-at-heel,  squeaky  shoes, 
rakish  cap,  and  one-and-three-ha'penny  pearl  neck- 
lace. 

You  will  surmise  I  have  had  a  fortune  left  me 
by  my  great-uncle.  I  don't  possess  a  great-uncle. 
That  I  have  been  the  recipient  of  a  new  Paris  hat. 
Wrong.  That  someone  has  said  I  am  the  prettiest 
girl  in  the  county.  Bosh!  That  Peter  has  ceased 
to  bully  mother.  That  will  happen  when  the 
millennium  arrives. 

Oh,  foolish  conjecturer!  You  will  never  guess. 
It  is  something  far  more  delightful  than  any  of  these 
things.  I  will  whisper  it  to  you.  "Dimbie  is 
coming  home  this  evening."  You  smile  while  I 
ecstatically  hug  Jumbles.  "Dimbie's  a  dog.?"  you 
hazard.  "A  white,  pink-eyed,  objectionable  Mal- 
tese terrier."  I  chuckle  at  your  being  so  very 
wrong.     You  are  not  brilliant;  in  fact,  you  are  stupid. 

Dimbie's  a  husband.  My  husband.  And  he's 
been  away  for  three  days  at  the  bedside  of  his  sick 
Aunt  Letitia,  who  lives  in  Yorkshire.  I  think  it  is 
most  unreasonable  for  any  aunt  to  live  in  Yorkshire 
and  be  ill  when  we  hve  in  Surrey.  It  is  so  far  away. 
Anyhow,  Dimbie  shall  never  go  away  again  to  Aunt 
Letitia,  sick  or  well,  without  taking  me  with  him. 
For  I  find  I  cannot  get  on  at   all    without   him. 

2 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

When  I  turn  a  retrospective  eye  upon  the  years 
without  Dimbie,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  did  not  know 
the  meaning  of  the  word  happiness. 

I  was  foolish  enough  to  say  this  to  Peter  just 
before  I  was  married,  and  he  sniffed  in  the  objec- 
tionable way  which  mother  and  I  have  always  so 
specially  disliked.  It  sounds  undutiful  to  speak  of 
father  thus,  but  he  does  sniff.  And  I  might  as  well 
remark  in  passing  that  I  am  very  far  from  being 
attached  to  Peter,  as  I  always  call  him  behind  his 
back,  being  less  like  a  father  than  anyone  I  have 
ever  met.  I  am  sony  that  this  should  be  so,  but 
I  didn't  choose  him  for  a  parent.  Parents  have  a 
say  in  their  cliildren's  existence,  but  you  can't  select 
your  own  progenitors.  Were  this  within  your 
power.  General  Peter  Macintosh  and  I  would  only 
be  on  distant  bowing  terms  at  the  moment,  certainly 
not  parent  and  child.  And  yet  mother  would  be 
lonely  without  me,  although  I  have  left  her.  Poor, 
darling  mother!  That  is  my  one  trouble,  the  fly  in 
the  ointment;  her  loneliness,  her  defencelessness! 

I  do  not  mean  that  Peter  kicks  her  with  clogs,  or 
throws  lamps  at  her  head.  But  he  worries  her,  nags 
at  her. 

Now  Dimbie  never  nags.  I  think  it  was  his  utter 
unlikeness  to  Peter  that  first  attracted  me.  Peter 
is  small  and  narrow  in  his  views;  Dimbie  is  large 
in  every  sense  of  the  word.  Peter  has  green  eyes; 
Dimbie  has  blue.     Peter  has  a  straight,  chiselled 

3 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

nose  —  the  Macintosh  nose  he  calls  it ;  Dimbie  has  a 
dear  crooked  one  —  an  accident  at  football.     Peter 

has But  I  think  I'll  just  keep  to  Dimbie's 

"points"  without  referring  to  General  Macintosh 
any  further  —  well,  because  Dimbie  is  incomparable. 

I  met  him  first  in  an  oil-shop  in  Dorking.  I  was 
ordering  some  varnish  for  one  of  Peter's  canoes. 
Since  Peter  "  retired,"  which,  unfortunately  for 
mother  and  me,  was  many  years  ago  —  he  having 
married  late  in  life  —  he  has  spent  his  spare  time  in 
a  workshop  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden  building 
canoes  which,  up  to  the  present,  he  has  never 
succeeded  in  getting  to  float.  But  that  is  a  mere 
detail.  No  one  has  ever  expressed  a  wish  to  float 
in  them,  so  what  matters.^  The  point  is  that  this 
arduous  work  kept  him  shut  up  in  his  workshop  for 
many  hours  away  from  mother  and  me.  It  was 
then  we  breathed  and  played  and  laughed,  and 
Miss  Fairbrother,  my  governess,  read  us  entrancing 
stories  and  taught  me  how  to  slide  down  the  stair- 
case on  a  tea-tray  and  do  other  delightful  things, 
while  mother  kept  a  sharp  look-out  for  the  advance 
of  the  enemy. 

Well,  Dimbie  and  I  got  to  know  each  other  in 
this  little  oil-shop.  I,  or  my  muslin  frock,  became 
entangled  in  some  wire-netting,  which  really  had  no 
business  to  be  anywhere  but  at  an  ironmonger's,  and 
Dimbie  disentangled  me,  there  being  no  one  else 
present  to  perform  this  kindly  act,  the  shopman 

4 


Peter  has  spent  his  spare  time  building  canoes 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

being  up  aloft  searching  for  his  best  copal  var- 
nish. 

We  were  not  engaged  till  quite  six  weeks  had 
elapsed  after  this,  because  Peter  would  not  sanction 
such  a  proceeding.  He  said  I  must  behave  as  a 
general's  daughter,  and  not  as  a  tradesman's;  and 
when  I  pointed  out  that  royalties  frequently  became 
engaged  after  seeing  each  other  about  half  a  dozen 
times,  and  that  publicly,  he  just  shouted  at  me. 
For  years  mother  and  I  have  been  trying  to  per- 
suade Peter  that  w^e  are  not  soldiers,  but  he  doesn't 
appear  to  believe  us.  He  only  gave  his  consent  in 
the  end  to  our  engagement  because  he  was  tired 
and  gouty  and  wanted  to  be  let  alone. 

Dimbie  was  like  the  importunate  widow,  and  he 
importuned  in  season  and  out  of  season,  from  break 
of  day  till  set  of  sun.  He  neglected  liis  business, 
took  rooms  in  Dorking,  would  fly  up  to  the  city  for 
a  couple  of  hours  each  day,  and  spent  the  rest  of 
his  time  on  our  doorstep  when  he  wasn't  allowed 
inside  the  house.  Peter  tried  threats,  bribery, 
shouting,  drill  language  of  the  most  fearful  descrip- 
tion; but  Dimbie  stuck  manfully  to  his  guns,  and 
at  last  Peter  was  bound  to  admit  that  Dimbie  must 
have  come  of  some  good  fighting  stock.  Dimbie 
admitted  most  cheerfully  that  he  had,  that  his 
great-great-grandfather  had  stormed  the  heights  of 
Abraham  and  Wolfe.  At  which  Peter  laid  down 
his    arms    and    briefly    said,    "Take    her!"     And 

5 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Dimbie  did  so  at  the  very  earliest  opportunity, 
which  was  during  the  Christmas  hohdays.  And 
so  I  am  his  greatly-loving  and  much-loved  wife. 

Much  loved  I  know  I  am  by  the  very  way  he 
looks  at  me,  strokes  my  hair,  whispers  my  name, 
stares  angrily  at  Amelia  when  upon  some  pretext 
she  lingers  in  the  room  after  bringing  in  cofifee  and 
won't  leave  us  alone. 

Ah,  that  being  alone!  How  delightful  it  is.  We 
have  enjoyed  that  best  of  all.  We  had  so  few 
opportunities  before  we  were  married,  Peter  ap- 
pearing to  think  it  was  our  duty  to  play  wliist  each 
evening,  with  most  cheerful  countenances;  and  were 
I,  out  of  sheer  desperation,  to  trump  his  best  card, 
he  would  scream  with  annoyance. 

But  I'm  not  getting  on  with  Dimbie's  points.  I 
think  his  dearest  friend,  or  even  liis  wife  or  mother, 
would  be  over-stepping  the  strict  boundary-line  of 
truth  were  they  to  describe  him  as  handsome.  He's 
not  handsome.  For  which  Nanty,  mother's  old 
schoolfellow,  says  I  should  be  deeply  grateful. 
Handsome  men,  she  tells  me,  have  no  time  to 
admire  their  own  wives,  so  taken  up  are  tliey  with 
their  own  graces,  which  is  a  pity  for  the  wives. 

In  addition  to  the  crooked  nose  I  mentioned 
Dimbie  has  also  a  crooked  mouth,  giving  him  the 
most  humorous,  comical,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
most  kindly  expression.  I  wouldn't  have  Dimbie's 
mouth  straight  for  the  world.     It  droops  at  the  left 

6 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

comer.  He  opines  that  he  was  born  that  vray,  that 
it  must  be  a  family  mouth,  at  which  liis  mother  is 
extremely  indignant.  She  asserts  that  the  mouths 
in  her  family  at  any  rate  were  quite  perfect,  and  that 
this  droop  is  the  result  of  a  horrid  pipe  which  was 
never  out  of  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  alight  or  dead, 
throughout  his  college  days.  Dimbie  laughs  at  this, 
and  says  shall  he  grow  a  moustache  to  cover  up  the 
defect,  and  I  say  No,  he  shan't. 

The  crook  of  liis  mouth  and  nose  happen  to  be  in 
opposite  directions,  so  even  when  he's  depressed  he 
looks  quite  happy  and  amused. 

Nature,  trying  to  balance  things  up  a  little,  then 
gave  him  jolly,  blue,  twinkling  eyes,  and  crisp  brown 
hair  with  little  kinks  in  it. 

He  will  be  thirty-one  on  the  second  of  next  month. 
His  mother,  whom  I  have  only  once  seen  and  that 
was  at  our  wedding,  doesn't  approve  of  his  telling 
his  age  to  any  casual  inquirer  in  his  usual  direct 
manner,  for  it  naturally  gives  her  own  age  away. 
Mrs.  Westover,  Nanty  says,  imagines  she  would  pass 
for  under  forty  when  the  wind  is  in  the  west. 

"Why  west.-*"  mother  and  I  had  cried  together. 

"  A  soft  damp  west  wind  will  make  a  woman  look 
ten  years  younger,"  said  Nanty  sagely.  "It  is  a 
north  wind  which  works  such  havoc  with  her 
complexion." 

Mother  and  I  have  learnt  a  great  deal  from  Nanty 
one  way  or  another,  and  the  funny  part  of  it  is 

7 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

that  the  information  which  doesn't  matter  always 
seems  to  stick  in  my  memory,  while  important  things 
go,  which  Dimbie  says  is  the  way  of  the  world. 

Dimbie  is  "  on  "  the  Stock  Exhange.  Peter  calls 
it  a  sink  of  iniquity  and  its  denizens  liars  and  thieves. 
One  of  the  liars  and  thieves  married  me  on  the 
strength  of  a  good  deal  in  Rio  Tintos.  Rio  Tintos 
must  be  beautiful  things  to  have  been  the  means  of 
giving  us  so  much  happiness.  Dimbie  says  they  are 
not,  that  they  are  just  plain  copper  mines  in  Spain. 
Dimbie  is  mistaken.  Copper  is  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  metals  with  its  red-gold,  warm  colour.  It  is 
the  most  romantic  of  metals.  A  tin  mine  in  Cornwall 
would  never  have  done  for  us  what  Rio  Tintos  have 
done,  I  feel  convinced.  The  dictionary  says  copper 
was  perhaps  the  first  metal  employed  by  man, 
which  makes  it  doubly  interesting  to  me.  Each 
day  I  scan  the  financial  column  of  the  paper  to  see 
if  Rio  Tintos  are  up  or  down.  Dimbie  says  he  has 
no  interest  in  them  now,  and  smiles  at  my  eagerness, 
but  it  makes  no  diflFerence.  The  words  stand  to 
me  for  happiness,  and  I  shall  search  for  them  always. 


CHAPTER  II 

NANTY  DISCOURSES  ON  THE  WRITING  OF  BOOKS 

WHEN  I  casually  mentioned  to  Nanty  — 
yesterday  afternoon  over  our  tea  —  that  I 
had  begun  to  write  a  book  I  was  unprepared  for  her 
opposition,  which  ahnost  amounted  to  a  command 
that  I  should  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  But  then  she 
misunderstood  me  from  the  very  beginning,  which 
was  only  natural  now  I  come  to  reflect  upon  it, 
added  to  which  she  has  a  disconcerting  habit  of 
jumping  to  conclusions. 

At  the  outset  of  our  conversation  her  manner  was 
depressed  as  she  looked  into  the  fire. 

"Ah,  well,"  she  said  at  length,  "it  can't  be  helped! 
I  suppose  you  mean  a  first-person,  diary,  daily- 
round  sort  of  book  .5^" 

I  nodded,  pleased  at  her  acumen. 

"It  is  the  worst  and  most  tiresome  kind,  but 
perhaps  it  will  be  best  for  your  poor  husband." 

"  My  poor  husband ! "  I  echoed. 

"Yes." 

"  Will  you  kindly  explain  ?  " 

"  It  wiU  be  difficult,  but  I'll  try." 
9 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

She  settled  herself  in  her  chair  more  comfortably. 

"It  appears  to  me  that  women,  dear  Marguerite, 
write  books  from  several  motives,  the  principal  being 
tliat,  unknown  to  herself,  a  woman  will  get  rid  in  this 
way  of  her  own  self-consciousness.  It  is  hard  on  the 
public;   it  is  a  blessing  in  disguise  to  her  friends." 

"Nanty!" 

"  I  don't  say  you  are  of  that  sort.  Why,  I  believe 
the  cliild's  eyes  are  actually  full  of  tears ! "  she  added 
in  consternation. 

"Go  on,"  I  said. 

"But  you're  going  to  be  hurt." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Well,  I  will  add  at  once  that  I  should  not  expect 
to  find  in  the  pages  of  your  book  as  much  self-con- 
sciousness as  is  customary  in  a  young  girl  of  your 
years.  General  Macintosh  is  not  a  person  to  en- 
courage illusions  about  oneself.  To  live  •with  him 
must  be  an  education,  painful  but  liberal." 

I  smiled  faintly. 

"Some  women  write  books  because  they  are 
lonely.  An  absorbing  occupation,  even  if  badly 
performed,  helps  to  pass  the  time,  and  they  yearn  to 
see  themselves  in  print.  In  fact,  all  writers  yearn 
to  see  themselves  in  print  —  a  most  natural  desire 
on  their  part,  but  one  to  be  discouraged  in  this  age 
of  over-publication.  Other  women  write  because 
they  say  they  'love  it.'  I  am  not  sure  that  this  type 
isn't  the  worst  of  the  lot.     They  imagine  because 

10 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

they  love  it  that  they  must  necessarily  do  it  well. 
Not  at  all,  the  deduction  is  a  poor  one.  I  love 
bridge,  but  rarely  pull  off  a  'no  trumper.' 

"And  a  few,  a  very  few,  write  because  they  have 
really  something  to  say,  something  to  tell.  Some- 
tliing  new  —  no,  not  new,  there  is  nothing  new 
under  the  sun,  but  a  fresh  way  of  telling  an  old  story. 
A  burning  force,  something  stronger  than  themselves, 
which  is  another  name  for  genius,  compels  them  to 
speak,  to  give  their  message,  and  the  world  is  the 
gainer.  Now  why  do  you  want  to  write  ?  Which 
of  these  four  impulses  is  yours  ?  " 

She  rose  and  drew  on  her  gloves. 

"A  burning  force  stronger  than  myself,  which  is 
another  name  for  genius." 

She  laughed. 

"  You're  not  offended  with  me  ? "  she  asked  as 
I  conducted  her  to  the  gate. 

"  Just  a  teeny  bit,  Nanty." 

"Well,  you  mustn't  be." 

She  took  my  two  hands  in  both  of  hers. 

"  I  couldn't  dream  of  permitting  you  to  sulk  with 
me,  little  Marguerite.  I've  known  you  since  the 
(Jays  when  you  wore  a  pinafore  and  had  to  be  slapped 
for  washing  some  snails  in  the  best  toilet  ware  in 
my  spare  room  before  throwing  them  to  the  ducks  — 
nasty  child.  It  seems  hard  to  discourage  you,  to 
talk  to  you  thus,  but  whatever  in  the  name  of  fortune 
has  put  such  a  dreadful  idea  into  your  head  ?  " 

11 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*'  Do  you  think  it  so  dreadful  ?  " 

"Terribly  dreadful!"  she  returned.  *'I  knew  an 
authoress  —  I  beg  her  pardon,  I  mean  an  author  — 
who  after  a  small  success  with  her  first  book  —  nasty, 
miry  sort  of  book  it  was  too  —  left  her  husband,  quite 
a  decent  man  as  men  go,  with  red  hair  and  freckles 
(they  lived  in  the  country),  and  went  to  London  to 
see  Ufe  as  she  called  it,  which  meant  sitting  on  the 
top  of  a  penny  omnibus  and  eating  rolls  and  butter- 
at  an  A.  B.  C.  She  wore  her  hair  a  la  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt, and  expected  to  have  an  intrigue,  which 
never  came  off,  the  lady  being  past  forty  and  plain 
at  that.  "\Mien  her  second  edition  money  —  I  think 
it  got  into  a  second  edition  —  was  finished  she  was 
very  glad  and  thankful  to  creep  back  to  her  husband, 
who  in  a  big,  magnanimous  way  took  her  in,  which 
I  wouldn't  have  done.  Then  I  knew  another  author 
—  successful  fifth  edition  this  was  —  whose  head 
became  so  swelled  that  some  cows  in  a  field  —  she 
was  lying  in  a  ditch  composing  —  took  it  for  a 
mangel-WTirzel  one  day  and  ate  it." 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  laugh  here.?"  I  asked. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  reassured  me.  "  I  only  want  to 
impress  you  before  it  is  too  late.  I  have  one  more 
case.  A  poor  girl  wrote  a  book  called  Awakenings, 
or  some  such  title.  A  re^^ewer  on  an  ultra-superior, 
provincial  paper,  the  Damchester  Guardian  I  think  it 
was,  cut  it  to  pieces  with  the  cleverness,  cruelty  and 
ruthlessness  of  extreme  youth.     The  critic  must  have 

12 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

been  young,  for  only  youth  is  really  hard.  There 
was  not  a  good  word  for  it;  it  was  described  as 
maudlin,  sentimental  twaddle.  The  girl  —  she  was 
a  fool  of  course,  but  we  can't  all  be  born  clever  — 
committed  suicide.  This  was  a  bit  of  rare  good 
luck  for  her  publisher,  for  he  got  an  advertisement 
for  nothing,  and  sold  forty  thousand  copies  of  the 
book  in  three  months." 

Nanty  paused  for  breath.  John,  the  coachman, 
looked  respectfully  ahead  and  pretended  he  didn't 
mind  waiting;  and  I  called  her  attention  to  our 
bank  of  crocuses. 

*'  Don't  like  crocuses,"  she  said. 

I  laughed. 

*'  Still  obstinate  ?  " 

*'No,"  1  replied,  "I  gave  up  my  book  over  my 
second  cup  of  tea." 

"  Dear  Marguerite,"  she  said,  kissing  me.  "  I  am 
sure  you  will  make  your  husband  very  happy." 

"  I  hope  so." 

"You're  bound  to,  if  you  are  as  earnest  as  all 
that  about  it.  Your  face  looks  like"" —  like  —  a 
toadstool!" 

"Thank  you,"  I  laughed. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  say  pretty  things  to  you.  You 
get  quite  enough  from  that  silly  Dimbie  of  yours. 
But  now  tell  me  before  I  go,  just  to  satisfy  my  curi- 
osity, what  is  your  reason  for  wishing  to  write  this 
book  ?     I  always  thought  you  such  a  simple  child." 

13 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

I  closed  the  carriage  door  and  looked  away. 

She  leaned  forward  and  turned  my  face  round. 

"Why,  she's  actually  blushing!"  she  ejaculated. 

"  Home,"  I  said  to  John,  wresting  my  face  away. 

"But  it's  not  home,"  she  contradicted,  "and 
won't  be  home  till  you  tell  me  why  you  are  blushing 
like  a  peony." 

"Nanty,"  I  cried,  "you  are  too  bad." 

"  IMarguerite,  why  are  you  looking  so  guilty  and 
ashamed  ?  " 

"  I'm  not,"  I  said  stoutly. 

"You  are." 

"Why  should  I  look  ashamed.?" 

"That's  what  I  want  to  get  at.  I  ask  you  the 
simplest  question,  upon  which  your  countenance 
becomes  that  of  a  criminal  run  to  earth." 

"Pictorial  exaggeration,"  I  said  lightly.  "And, 
Nanty,  I'm  catching  cold.  Remember  it  is  only 
March." 

"  Take  this  rug,"  she  replied  coolly.  "  I  shall  not 
let  you  go  till  you  give  me  your  reason  for  wishing 
to  appear  in  print." 

"  But  I  don't,"  I  said  with  heat. 

"You  said  you  did." 

"Never.  You  imagined  that.  I  simply  said  I 
was  writing  a  book  —  a  daily-round  sort  of  journal, 
as  you  described  it.     I  never  referred  to  publication." 

Nanty  turned  up  her  veil  and  stared  at  me  for 
some  seconds. 

14 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Well,  well,  well!"  she  said  at  length.  *'I 
wonder  you  didn't  say  so  sooner." 

"  You  never  gave  me  an  opportunity.  At  my  first 
words  you  were  off  at  a  tangent,  and  then  I  became 
interested  in  your  awful  experiences." 

She  sat  back  and  laughed. 

"The  impudence  of  the  child  drawing  me  like 
this.  If  you  don't  v/ant  your  books  published  write 
fifty  of  them.  It  will  keep  you  well  out  of  mischief 
and  do  nobody  any  harm." 

Then  she  fell  into  a  brown  study,  and  I  prepared 
to  tiptoe  softly  through  the  gate,  when  she  cried 
suddenly  — 

"Wait!  You  have  still  not  told  me  why  you 
are  doing  this  scribbling.  I  should  have  thought 
you  would  have  found  plenty  to  do  without  writing. 
There  is  your  house  —  your  sewing " 

^You  will  laugh." 

"I  won't." 

"Promise." 

"  I  promise." 

"Well,"  I  began,  "I " 

Nanty  was  looking  at  the  sunset. 

"  I  want  to  write,  I  must  write,"  I  went  on  more 
firmly,  "  because  I  am  so  —  happy.  It  sounds  silly, 
ridiculous,  I  know,  and  you  won't  understand, 
but " 

I  paused.  Nanty  was  still  looking  at  the  sunset. 
"You  see,  I  was  never  very  happy  before  I  was 

15 


Dimbie  and  1  —  and  Amelia 

married  because  of  Peter  —  father,  I  mean.  You 
have  visited  us  often,  so  you  know.  You  know 
how  he  worries  poor  mother.  It  was  impossible  to 
be  happy.  But  now  it  is  all  so  different,  so  won- 
derful, so  tranquil,  that  I  sometimes  feel  almost 
sick  with  happiness.  It  is  too  good  to  last,  it  cannot 
last.  I  am  sometimes  frightened.  And  I  cannot 
let  Dimbie  know  how  I  feel.  Once  you  told  me 
not  to  let  the  man  I  loved  be  too  sure  of  it.  The 
moment  in  which  a  man  knows  he  has  gained  your 
love  he  ceases  to  value  it." 

"Did  I  say  that.^" 

"  Yes,  you  said  that  to  me  the  day  I  was  married. 
So  what  am  I  to  do.^  I  can't  tell  Amelia;  I  can't 
write  it  to  mother,  for  Peter  would  sneer.  I  must 
have  an  outlet  for  my  feelings,  or  they  will  overwhelm 
me.  When  I  have  sung  and  danced  and  rushed 
round  the  garden  after  Jumbles  I  can  fly  to  my 
book.  I  can  enter,  '  Dimbie  is  a  dear,'  '  Dimbie  is 
my  husband,  and  he  will  be  home  in  half  an  hour.' 
'  One  Tree  Cottage  is  the  sweetest  spot  on%arth,  and 
I,  Marguerite  Westover,  am  the  happiest  girl  in  the 
world.'  When  the  last  half  hour  before  his  home- 
coming hangs  heavily  I  can  enter  all  the  events  of 
the  day.  It  will  pass  the  time.  In  the  years  to 
come,  when  I  am  an  old,  old  woman,  I  can  turn 
back  the  pages  and  read  again  of  my  first  wonderful 
year.  It  will  be  a  book  only  for  myself,  only  for 
my  eyes.     That  which  Dimbie  could  not  understand 

16 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

I  can  put  between  its  covers.  A  man,  I  imagine, 
cannot  always  understand  the  way  a  woman  feels 
about  things  that  touch  her  deeply,  like  —  well,  Uke 
when  Dimbie  and  I  say  our  prayers  together.  And 
the  song  of  a  bird,  a  thrush  woke  us  the  other 
morning.  It  was  perched  on  a  bough  in  a  shaft  of 
warm  sunlight,  and  was  pouring  out  its  little  heart 
just  as  though  it  were  breaking  with  happiness.  My 
eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  Dimbie  saw  them.  He 
said  —  well,  he  didn't  understand.  He  thought  I 
was  sad,  and  I  couldn't  explain  even  to  him  that  my 
tears  were  of  joy.  And  Amelia  —  she  looks  at  me 
so  when  six  o'clock  comes  and  I  cannot  keep  my  feet 
still.  I  brush  up  the  hearth  and  put  Dimbie's 
slippers  to  warm,  and  cut  the  magazines,  and  place 
our  two  chairs  side  by  side,  very  close  together,  and 
put  a  daffodil  in  my  hair,  and  go  to  the  window, 
and  wander  to  the  kitchen,  and  go  to  the  front 
door,  and  back  to  the  kitchen  to  see  how  the  meat 
is  doing,  and " 

I  broke  off,  for  Nanty  had  held  up  her  hands  for 
me  to  cease,  and  when  she  turned  to  me  her  eyes 
were  full  of  tears. 

"Write  your  book.  Marguerite,"  she  whispered. 
*'  Write  your  book."  Then  she  stooped  and  kissed 
me,  and  then  she  gave  a  laugh,  but  there  was  a 
little  sob  in  it. 

I  looked  at  her  wonderingly. 

"You  say  I  told  you  to  hide  your  love  from  the 
17 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

man  you  have  married.  I  take  the  words  back. 
Better  too  much  love  than  too  little  between  husband 
and  wife,  for  theirs  is  a  union  dependent  on  much 
affection  and  sacrifice  if  they  would  be  happy.  And 
God  forbid  that  sorrow,  disillusionment  shall  ever 
enter  into  your  life.  God  forbid  that  you  shall  ever 
be  lonely,  stretch  out  a  hand  at  night  and  find 
emptiness,  pour  out  your  troubles  and  find  a  deaf 
ear  turned  to  you,  offer  a  caress  which  is  met  with 
a  curse." 

Her  voice  was  so  low  I  could  hardly  catch  the 
bitterness  of  her  words. 

"  But  can  such  things  ever  be .? "  I  cried. 

She  laughed  a  little  dry  laugh. 

"I  have  known  of  them.  It  would  seem  that 
some  marriages  were  not  made  in  heaven." 

I  thought  of  Peter  and  mother.  Had  Nanty's 
marriage  been  unhappy  too.-^  She  had  been  alone 
ever  since  I  could  remember.  The  mistress  of  a 
handsome  house,  lovely  garden  .  .  . 

Nanty  broke  in 

"And  when  you  write  your  book,  don't  let  it  all 
be  of  Dimbie.  Some  women  haven't  got  a  Dimbie, 
and  women  are  the  principal  readers  of  women's 
books.  Enter  as  well  all  the  little  worries  and  cares 
which  are  bound  to  crop  up  sooner  or  later,  so  that 
the  contrast  between  your  life  and  the  life  of  some 
lonely,  unloved  woman  may  not  be  too  cruel.  She 
will  laugh  at  Amelia's   smashing  the  best  china, 

18 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

enjoy  your  misfortunes,  cheer  up  when  Dimbie  is 
down  with  typhoid  and  not  expected  to  Hve." 

"  But  you  forget  my  book  will  only  be  for  myself. 
I  don't  know  enough  to  write  one  for  other  people. 
Dimbie  says  I  am  very  ignorant." 

"Oh,  of  course!  And  that  after  all  is  the  best 
sort  of  book,  the  one  you  write  for  yourself.  Some 
publisher  will  be  saved  endless  care  and  worry. 
Your  friends  will  be  saved  the  necessity  of  turning 
down  side  streets  when  they  see  you  coming  along  — 
they  have  barely  four-and-six  for  one  of  the  classics, 
or  a  book  they  really  want,  let  alone  yours." 

I  laughed. 

"You  are  not  polite." 

"No,  Marguerite;  I  love  you,  and  I  want  to  save 
you  from  your  friends.  But  perhaps  some  day 
when  it  is  finished,  when  your  year  is  over,  when 
you  are  too  busy,  like  so  many  modern  girls,  to  do 
anything  but  play  golf  and  bridge,  or  there  may  be 
another  interest  in  your  life,  you  might  let  me  have 
a  look  at  it.  A  manuscript  written  out  of  sheer 
happiness  might  be  interesting,  though  a  trifle  tire- 
some. There  has  been  The  Sorrows  of  Werthcr. 
Why  not  The  Joys  of  Marguerite?  Besides,  your 
grammar  and  punctuation  might  require  some 
correction." 

"Nanty,"  I  said,  "you  are  making  fun  of  me,  and 
I'm  very  cold." 

"Marguerite,"  she  commanded,  "give  me  another 
19 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

kiss,  and  then  I'll  go.  I  have  enjoyed  my  afternoon 
with  the  little  bride." 

"  I  hear  the  whistle  of  Dimbie's  train." 

"What  an  astonishing  thing!"  she  remarked 
sarcastically. 

"  I  mean,  won't  you  stay  and  see  him  ?  " 

"No,  I  won't.     I'm  going  home." 

"  John  must  have  been  interested  in  our  conversa- 
tion." 

"John  grows  deafer  each  day,"  she  said  as  she 
drove  away. 

I  wandered  down  the  lane  to  meet  Dimbie,  and 
presently  he  turned  the  comer. 


20 


CHAPTER  III 

ON  AMELIA,  FLUES,  AND  DRAIN-BAMBOOS 

«« "T^UT  down  your  worries,"  said  Nanty,  so  I  must 
ji^  perforce  enter  Amelia  and  the  kitchen  boiler. 
The  boiler  won't  yield  hot  water,  and  Amelia  says 
that  isn't  her  fault,  that  she  wasn't  the  plumber 
who  put  it  there,  and  she  can't  be  expected  to  get  a 
flue-brush  into  a  hole  the  size  of  a  threepenny-bit. 

When  I  said  I  thought  she  put  it  up  the  chimney 
she  asked  me  what  for. 

"To  clean  the  flue,  of  course,"  I  retorted,  a  little 
irritably;  and  she  replied  with  fine  scorn  that  flues 
didn't  grow  up  chimneys,  but  at  the  backs  of  fire- 
grates and  other  un-get-at-able  places. 

Ever  since  Ameha  came  to  us  her  object  appears 
to  have  been  the  sounding  the  depths  of  my 
ignorance,  with  the  idea  of  putting  us  in  our  proper 
positions.  I  don't  mean  that  she  wishes  to  be  the 
mistress  exactly,  and  sit  with  Dimbie  in  the  drawing- 
room  while  I  peel  potatoes  in  the  back  kitchen;  but 
she  wishes  me  to  understand  that  she  knows  I  am  a 
silly  sort  of  creature,  and  she  will  do  the  best  she 
can  for  me,   seeing  that  she  is  one  of  the  "old- 

21 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

fashioned  sort"  who  still  take  a  kindly  and  benevo- 
lent interest  in  their  master  and  mistress. 

Not  that  Amelia  is  old-fashioned  really,  with  flat 
caps  and  elastic-sided  cloth  boots,  such  as  mother's 
servants  wear.  She  is  an  entirely  modern  product. 
She  knows  how  to  do  the  cake-walk,  and  wears  two- 
strapped  patent  slippers,  with  high  Louis  heels 
which  turn  over  at  a  most  dangerous  angle,  looking 
more  like  two  leaning  towers  of  Pisa  than  decorous, 
respectable  "general's"  heels.  But  she  is  old- 
fashioned  in  the  sense  that  she  appears  to  have 
our  interests  most  tremendously  at  heart,  is  quite 
painfully  economical,  is  forever  scrubbing  and  clean- 
ing, and  calls  me  "mum"  instead  of  "madam" 
when  she  isn't  calling  me  "  miss." 

Just  now  she  invited  me  to  go  and  see  how  far 
she  had  got  the  brush  up  the  flue.  She  was  hurt 
because  Dimbie  had  said  he  should  have  to  get  up 
early  and  see  what  he  could  do  about  the  hot  water. 
In  fact,  she  had  laughed  derisively  behind  the 
roller-towel.  She  thinks  no  more  of  Dimbie's 
capabilities  than  of  mine. 

I  went,  and  was  much  impressed  by  the  length  of 
the  flue-brush  and  its  pliability.  Amelia  had  raked 
out  the  fire,  and,  with  sleeves  rolled  back,  showed 
me  what  she  could  do  with  flues.  It  was  like  being 
at  a  conjuring  entertainment.  The  brush  flashed 
about  like  lightning,  got  into  impossible  places, 
curved,  wriggled,  and  once  I  thought  that  Amelia 

22 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

herself  was  about  to  disappear  up  the  chimney.  I 
clutched  at  her  legs  and  brought  her  down.  Her 
face  was  glowing  and  black  in  places. 

"Now,  mum,"  she  panted,  "if  there's  no  hot 
water,  is  it  my  fault  ?  If  Amelia  Cockles  can't  get 
no  hot  water,  no  livin'  mortal  can,  includin'  the 
master  hisself.     I'll  show  him  to-night." 

"Oh,  don't,  Amelia!  Don't  do  it  again!  It's 
so  difficult  and  dangerous,  you  might  get  stuck,"  I 
pleaded.     "We'll  have  a  new  boiler." 

"It's  not  the  boiler,"  she  pronounced;  "it's 
where  it's  been  put." 

"Well,  we'll  have  it  moved.  Where  would  you 
like  it.?" 

She  was  guarded  in  her  answer. 

"  I'm  not  sure  as  you  can  move  boilers  about  like 
furniture.     We  must  tliink  it  over." 

She  drew  the  brush  from  the  flue,  and  I  now  saw 
it  in  its  entire  length. 

"  Wherever  did  you  get  it  from  ?  "  I  knew  Dimbie 
and  I  hadn't  bought  it  when  we  furnished.  " 

"  From  the  ironmonger's,  of  course." 

"Was  it  expensive.'*"  I  asked  carelessly.  I 
wondered  if  it  were  a  present  from  Amelia  to  us. 

"Sixpence  ha'penny.  I  sold  some  bottles  and 
rubbish  to  the  donkey-stone  man." 

"All  that  for  sixpence  halfpenny?"  I  ejaculated, 
ignoring  the  donkey-stone  man,  of  whom  I  had 
never  heard  before. 

23 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Amelia  eyed  me  a  little  pityingly. 

"  Would  you  care  to  see  the  drain-bamboo,  mum  ? 
That  cost  Jourpence." 

"The  drain-bamboo?" 

"  The  thing  we  push  down  the  drains  to  keep  'em 
clean  and  save  bad  smells." 

"Yes,  please." 

Amelia  produced  it.  It  was  tied  up  in  coils,  and 
as  she  cut  the  string  it  shot  across  the  kitchen  floor 
and  narrowly  escaped  my  ankles.  I  didn't  like  the 
drain-bamboo  at  all,  it  was  a  nasty,  sinuous  thing, 
and  I  asked  Amelia  to  remove  it  at  once. 

"Have  you  any  further  contrivances,  I  mean  un- 
usual ones,  concealed  about  the  premises?"  I 
inquired. 

"Them  are  not  unusual.  I  can't  think  where 
you  was  brought  up  if  you  haven't  seen  a  flue- 
brush  before,  mum." 

"I  was  bom  in  Westmoreland  first  and  then 
Dorking." 

Amelia  looked  at  me. 

"I  mean  I  was  born  in  Westmoreland  and  then 
removed  to  Dorking.'  Amelia  flurries  me  so  at 
times  I  hardly  know  what  I  am  saying.  "I  never 
went  into  the  kitchen  much,"  I  added  apologeti- 
cally. 

"P'r'aps  your  ma  helped  the  general?" 

"  Oh,  no,  we  hadn't  a  general." 

"  No  servant  ?  "  in  great  astonishment. 
24 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  We  had  a  servant,  but  not  a  general." 

"A  help?" 

"No,  we'd  four  servants.  You  see,  my  father 
suffers  from  gout,  and  he  requires  a  lot " 

"  Cook,  kitchen-maid,  housemaid,  parlour-maid .''  '* 
interrupted  Amelia,  ignoring  my  explanation. 

"That  was  it." 

Amelia  put  some  coal  on  the  fire,  which  she  had 
relit,  with  a  considerable  amount  of  noise. 

"No  wonder  you're  hignorant,  mum." 

Ameha  never  leaves  an  "  h "  out,  but  in  moments 
of  stress  occasionally  puts  one  in.  On  the  whole 
she  speaks  well  for  a  Cockney  born,  and  educated 
in  the  Mile  End  Road.  Of  course  all  her  "a's" 
are  "i's,"  but  I  find  it  difficult  to  transcribe  them. 
"I  tell  Dimbie  I  know  I  shall  pick  up  the  vernacular 
as  I  am  peculiarly  imitative;  and  he  says  he  hopes 
I  won't,  as  it  is  not  pretty." 

"Beggin'  your  pardon  for  sayin'  such  a  thing, 
but  it's  evidently  not  your  fault,  and  p'r'aps 
you'll  improve  as  time  goes  on.  You've  time  to 
learn." 

I  tried  to  feel  cheered  at  the  hopes  Amelia  held 
out  to  me,  and  prepared  to  leave  the  kitchen,  feeling 
a  little  annoyed  with  mother  for  neglecting  my 
education  so  far  as  flue-brushes  and  drain-bamboos 
were  concerned. 

"How  old  are  you,  mum?  You'll  hexcuse  me 
askin'  you." 

25  ^ 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

I  hesitated.  Were  Amelia  to  know  that  I  was 
two  years  her  senior  would  she  despise  me  more 
than  ever? 

"  Never  mind,  mum.  No  ladies  likes  to  tell  their 
ages.  In  my  last  place  —  Tompkinses'  —  the  oldest 
daughter.  Miss  Juha,  used  to  begin  a  chatterin'  to 
the  canary  for  all  she  was  worth  when  anybody  so 
much  as  mentions  how  old  they  was,  and  the  way 
time  was  passin'.  New  Year's  Eve  was  the  worst, 
when  the  bells  was  tollin'.  I've  knowni  her  wake 
that  poor  canary  up,  when  it  had  gone  to  bed,  and 
say,  '  Dicky,  Dicky,  pretty  Dick,'  and  it  thought  the 
incandescent  hght  was  the  sun,  and  had  its  bath 
straight  away." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  so  bad  as  that,"  I  laughed,  "I'm 
twenty -three ! " 

Ameha  blacked  her  face  more  than  ever  in  her 
surprise. 

"Bless  my  soul!  Who'd  have  thought  it?  In 
that  white  dress  you  wears  at  night  you  looks  like 
a  bit  of  a  tiling  who  has  just  got  out  of  pinifores. 
Twenty -three !  You're  older  than  me,  and  never 
seed  a  flue-brush  before." 

"Perhaps  you  have  always  been  brought  up  with 
them  ?  "  I  suggested. 

"  I  could  handle  one  at  six,  or  my  mother  would 
have  let  me  know  what  for." 

She  swelled  with  pride  at  the  retrospection  of 
her  infant  capabilities. 

26 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"You  were  evidently  most  clever.  Perhaps  you 
were  born  grown  up.     Some  people  are." 

She  considered  this. 

"  I  was  always  smart  for  my  years." 

"And  I  wasn't.  I  think  I  must  have  developed 
slowly,  Amelia.  When  you  were  cleaning  flues  I 
was  nursing  dolls.  Perhaps  it  was  my  parents' 
fault.     I  was  the  only  child." 

"And  I'm  the  eldest  of  fourteen." 

"Dear  me!"  I  said.  "And  are  they  all  expert 
flue  cleaners.^" 

"  Eight  of  'em  is  in  heaven." 

She  sounded  as  sure  of  this  point  as  the  exasper- 
ating little  cottage  girl. 

"You'd  better  get  on  with  your  work;  I'm  inter- 
rupting you,"  I  said,  as  I  walked  to  the  door. 

About  eveiy  third  day  I  make  this  remark  to 
Amelia  with  the  faint  hope  of  impressing  upon  her 
that  /  am  the  mistress  of  the  establishment.  Then 
I  carefully  close  the  kitchen  door  beliind  me,  barricade 
myself  in  the  dining-  or  drawing-room,  and  sit  down 
and  think  about  her.  I  am  sure  Amelia  has  not 
the  slightest  idea  of  how  her  figure  looms  in  my 
mental  horizon.  I  don't  want  to  tliink  about  her. 
Dimbie  or  mother  or  Nanty  are  much  pleasanter 
subjects,  but  I  can't  help  it;  she  is  the  sort  of  person 
you  must  think  about. 

Nanty  found  her  for  me. 

She  said,  "  You  and  Dimbie  will  require  someone 
27 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

extremely  capable.  Amelia  Cockles  exactly  answers 
to  this  description." 

Now  what  worries  me  is  whether  to  sit  down 
quietly  and  let  Amelia  manage  us  and  be  happy,  or 
whether  to  endeavour  to  uphold  our  dignity  and  be 
uncomfortable. 

Were  I  to  put  such  a  question  to  Dimbie  he 
would  say,  "  Let's  be  happy."  But  this  happiness  is 
qualified  when  she  gives  us  roly-poly  pudding  more 
than  once  every  ten  days.  It  is  a  pudding  for  which 
I  have  always  had  a  pecuhar  dislike.  I  will  order,  I 
mean  suggest,  that  we  shall  have  a  thatched  house 
pudding  for  dinner.  I  mention  my  liking  for  brown 
thatch,  not  straw-coloured  thatch.  I  sit  with  an 
expectant  appetite,  and  a  roly-poly  appears,  white, 
flabby,  and  bursting  at  its  ends  with  raspberry  jam. 
Reproachfully  I  look  at  Amelia,  but  her  return  gaze 
is  as  innocent  and  ingenuous  as  a  Uttle  child's.  She 
would  have  me  believe  that  I  never  even  so  much  as 
mentioned  a  thatched  house  pudding.  Dimbie  sends 
up  his  plate  for  a  second  helping.  ^Miile  Amelia 
goes  for  the  cheese  course  I  say,  "  Do  you  think  you 
could  like  roly-poly  a  httle  less,  only  a  little  less?" 
And  Dimbie,  passing  up  his  plate  for  a  third  helping, 
says  he  will  try,  but  it  will  be  difficult,  as  Amelia 
makes  such  ripping  ones,  and  of  course  she  enters 
the  room  at  the  moment  and  hears  him.  She  hears 
everything.  I  think  she  must  fly  between  the 
kitchen  and  dining-room  when  she  waits  at  dinner, 

28 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

or  have  spring  boots  concealed  beneath  the  hall 
table. 

I  happened  to  mention  the  roly-poly  to  Nanty, 
and  she  said,  "  Be  thankful  she  can  make  a  pudding 
at  all,  or  you  might  have  to  make  it  yourself." 
There  was  an  assumption  in  her  manner  that  I 
couldn't,  and  I  didn't  argue  the  point.  It  is  useless 
arguing  with  Nanty. 

There  is  another  point  in  Ameha's  disfavour  to 
put  against  her  admitted  capability  —  she  squeaks. 
Her  shoes  squeak  and  her  corsets  creak,  and  her 
breathing  is  conducted  in  a  series  of  gasps  —  long 
ones  when  she  sweeps  a  room,  short  ones  when  she 
hands  the  potatoes  at  dinner.  She  seems  to  want 
oiling  at  every  point  of  vantage,  like  a  bicycle. 
Sometimes  I  he  awake  at  night  and  discuss  or  try 
to  discuss  with  Dimbie  the  possibilities  of  stopping 
the  squeaking. 

"  Tell  her  to  wear  cloth  boots  like  your  mother." 

"Mother  doesn't  wear  cloth  boots,"  I  contra- 
dict. 

"  I  thought  you  said  she  did,"  he  murmurs  sleepily. 

*'  No,  our  servants  wear  them." 

"  Well,  tell  Amelia  to  do  the  same." 

"She  won't." 

"Then  I  give  it  up." 

"Dimbie,"  I  say  coaxingly,  "before  you  go  quite, 
quite  off,  couldn't  you  suggest  a  remedy  for  squeak- 
ing ?    Oil  would  spoil  the  carpets." 

29 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Fill  'em  with  corn,"  comes  the  amazing  sug- 
gestion. 

"You  put  corn  in  wet  shoes,  dear  donkey,"  I 
shout,  trying  to  clutch  him  back  from  that  beautiful 
land  of  oblivion  to  wliich  all  of  us,  happy  or  un- 
happy, healthy  or  sick,  young  or  old,  are  so  glad  to 
go,  when  like  little  children  we  are  just  tired.  But 
he  had  gone.  Nothing  short  of  a  thunderbolt  would 
bring  him  back  till  the  morrow. 

And  when  that  morrow  came  I  suggested  to 
Amelia  that  she  should  dip  the  shoes  into  water. 

"Why  not  boil  'em,  mum,  with  a  little  washing 
powder .'' " 

Her  face  was  stolid,  but  there  was  a  hint  of  irony 
in  her  voice.  With  dignity  I  walked  from  the 
kitchen,  barricaded  myself,  and  once  again  sat  down 
to  think  about  her.  The  squeaking  was  unendur- 
able; the  creaking  of  the  corsets  was  nearly  as  bad. 
For  these  two  things  I  could  not  give  her  notice; 
besides,  I  should  never  dare  to  give  anybody 
notice. 

A  little  later  on  I  caught  her  in  the  hall  in  an  old 
pair  of  wool-work  slippers  embroidered  with  tea- 
roses  which  had  belonged  to  Dimbie,  but  wliich  I 
had  surreptitiously  banished  to  the  boxroom.  She 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  cake-walk;  her  chest  was 
stuck  out  like  a  pouter  pigeon's,  and  one  tea-rose 
was  poised  high  in  the  air. 

*' Amelia!"  I  shouted,  scandalised,  "what  are 
30 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

you  dreaming  of?  Have  you  taken  leave  of  your 
senses  ?  " 

She  brought  the  tea-rose  to  earth  with  a  bang, 
and  stood  like  a  soldier  at  attention. 

"  Beg  pardon,  mum.  Didn't  know  you  was  there, 
or  I  wouldn't  have  done  it.  But  I  was  so  happy  at 
thinkin'  how  pleased  you  would  be  in  seein'  me  in 
these  here  shoes,  as  you  have  took  such  a  dislike  to 
the  others." 

"  But  I'm  not  pleased,"  I  rejoined.  "  I  could  not 
think  of  permit  —  of  approving  of  your  wearing 
wool-work  sHppers  for  answering  the  front-door 
bell." 

"  It  never  rings,  mum." 

"It  will  when  callers  begin  to  arrive;  and  when 
you  receive  your  next  month's  wages  I  shall  be  glad, 
Amelia,  if  you  will  buy  a  pair  of  cloth  flat-heeled 
boots  or  shoes.  Kid  are  expensive,  but  cloth  is 
beautifully  cheap." 

"You  mentioned  them  before,  mum.  P'r'aps 
you'll  remember.  I  never  have  and  never  could 
wear  black  cloth  shoes.  It  would  1)e  like  walkin' 
about  with  a  pair  of  funerals  on  your  feet.  They'd 
depress  a  nigger  minstrel.  Anything  else  to  meet 
you.  White  tennis  shoes  .^  They're  soft  and  don't 
squeak." 

"  No,  Amelia,"  I  said  wearily,  "  white  tennis  shoes 
would  be  worse  than  the  wool-work.  We'll  dismiss 
the  subject.     It  is  said  that  a  man  can  get  accus- 

31 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

tomed  even  to  being  hanged.  I  may  learn  to  like 
your  shoes  in  time,  and  even  regard  their  noisiness 
as  music." 

And  I  went  back  to  the  drawing-room  and  closed 
the  door.  The  subject  was  finished,  and  so  Amelia 
continues  to  squeak. 


32 


CHAPTER   IV 

dimbie's  birthday 

I  FIND,  in  accordance  with  Nanty's  advice,  that 
I  kept  Dimbie  well  out  of  the  last  chapter;  but 
he's  bound  to  figure  pretty  largely  in  this,  for  he's 
had  a  birthday,  A  birthday  cannot  very  well  be 
touched  upon  without  referring  to  the  person  inter- 
ested, and  Dimbie  was  extremely  interested  because 
of  the  omelet  Amelia  made  him  for  breakfast. 

On  the  morning  previous  I  said  to  Amelia  — 

"  To-morrow  is  the  master's  birthday.  Now  what 
shall  we  give  him  for  breakfast  ?  It  must  be  some- 
thing very  nice." 

"Pigs'  feet." 

"Pigs'  feet?"  I  ejaculated. 

"Yes,  mum.  Pigs'  feet  boiled  till  juicy  and 
tender,  and  red  cabbage." 

"But  it's  for  breakfast,"  I  repeated. 

"Yes,  mum.     You  mentioned  that." 

"  But  you  can't  eat  pigs'  feet  for  breakfast." 

"Mr.  Tompkins'  brother-in-law,  Mr.  MUnchen, 
was  dead  nuts  on  it." 

Her  attitude  was  unshaken. 
33 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"But  wasn't  he  German,  Amelia?'* 

"P'r'aps  he  was,"  she  admitted. 

"Ah,"  I  said  triumphantly,  "that  makes  all  the 
difference." 

"  Whatabout  brawn  or  sausages,  or  black  puddings 
or  ham,  mum  ?  " 

"You  see  they're  all  —  pig»"  I  said  hesitatingly. 

"Well,  you're  not  Jews,  mum.  Tompkinses  had 
a  friend  who " 

"I  want  something  novel,"  I  cut  in,  leaving  the 
friend  till  another  time.  "I  want  something  we 
have  not  had  before." 

She  thought  a  moment.  Then  her  countenance 
brightened. 

"  I  know,  mum,  savoury  duck." 

"Don't  be  ridiculous,"  I  commanded.  "We're 
wasting  time." 

"  It  isn't  a  duck  really,  mum.  P'r'aps  you  thought 
it  was?" 

"When  you  say  a  duck,  I  naturally  think  you 
mean  a  duck." 

I  was  getting  tired. 

"  But  I  don't.  It's  made  of  the  insides  of  animals 
mixed  with  onions.  You  buy  them  at  tripe-shops, 
and  they're  real  good." 

I  felt  myself  turning  sick, 

"Amelia,"  I  said,  trying  to  be  patient,  "will  you 
remember  it's  breakfast  we  are  discussing.  I've 
called  your  attention  to  the  fact  several  times.     I 

34 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

think  it  will  have  to  end  in  an  omelet  —  a  nice, 
light  omelet.     Do  you  know  how  to  make  one  ?  " 

Now  Amelia  will  never  allow  that  she  doesn't 
know  everything  in  the  world,  so  her  reply  was 
guarded. 

"It's  made  of  eggs." 

"Of  course,"  I  rejoined. 

"  And  milk  and  butter " 

The  milk  might  be  right,  but  I  wasn't  so  sure 
about  the  butter. 

Amelia  pounced  on  my  hesitation. 

"Why,  I  believe  you  don't  know  how  to  make 
one  yourself,  mum." 

I  was  bound  to  confess  that  I  didn't. 

"My  opportunities  to  cook  have  been  few,"  I 
explained.  "The  little  I  know  was  learned  at  a 
cookery  class." 

Amelia  sniffed  derisively. 

"  And  a  lot  you'd  learn  there,  mum  —  hentries 
and  hoary  doves,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Hoary  doves!"  I  repeated  wonderingly,  and 
vaguely  thinking  of  a  very  ancient  white-haired 
dove. 

"Yes,  them  silly  things  rich  folks  begins  their 
dinners  with  —  anchovies  and  holives." 

"You  mean  Jiors-d'ceuvres?"  That  I  suppressed 
a  smile  should  go  to  my  good  account,  I  think. 

"That's  it,  only  my  tongue  won't  twist  round  it 
like  yours." 

35 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"And  where  have  you  met  them?"  I  inquired 
with  interest. 

"AtTompkinses'!" 

"  And  did  they  have  them  every  night  ?  " 

"No,  just  at  dinner  parties."  She  spoke  in  an 
airy,  careless  fasliion. 

"  I  see,"  I  said,  greatly  impressed. 

Amelia  had  been  accustomed  to  hors-d'oeuvres  at 
dinner  parties,  and  yet  she  condescended  to  live 
with  us. 

I  looked  with  unusual  interest  at  her  closely- 
curled  fringe,  her  sharp,  eager  features,  and  her 
shamrock  brooch.  I  listened  to  her  squeaking; 
it  was  the  corsets  this  time.  Sometimes  a  bone 
cracks  in  them  like  the  report  of  a  small  pistol,  and 
I  think  to  myself,  "Well,  there  is  one  less  to  break." 
But  the  number  never  seems  to  diminish.  I  fancy 
she  must  have  a  horde  of  bones,  a  sort  of  nest-egg 
of  bones,  put  by,  and  as  soon  as  one  cracks  it  is 
promptly  replaced  by  a  sound  one.  Occasionally 
one  bores  through  her  print  bodice,  and  then  she 
puts  a  patch  on  the  place,  a  new  print  patch,  which 
rarely  matches  the  rest  of  her  dress.  I  counted 
four  one  day.  She  will  look  like  a  patchwork  quilt 
soon,  and  I  feel  a  little  depressed  at  the  pros- 
pect. 

I  roused  myself  with  an  effort  to  Dimbie's  birth- 
day and  the  breakfast. 

Amelia  had  produced  the  cookery  book,  and  was 
36 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

rapidly  reading  out  loud  various  recipes  for  every 
variety  of  omelet. 

"Stop,"  I  said,  "I'm  getting  muddled." 

It  ended  in  our  selecting  a  savoury  parsley  omelet. 

"I  hope  it  will  be  nice,"  I  said  anxiously. 

"Of  course  it  mil  be  nice.  You  leave  it  to  me, 
mum.  I've  got  a  hand  that  light  the  master  will 
be  wisliin'  he  had  a  birthday  every  day  of  his  Hfe." 

The  birthday  morning  dawned  clear  and  beauti- 
ful. My  first  thought  was  of  the  omelet.  I  rose 
softly,  dressed  quickly,  and  went  out  into  the  garden 
with  the  hope  of  finding  a  few  flowers  to  put  at  the 
side  of  Dimbie's  plate.  A  fresh,  springy  scent  met 
me  everywhere  —  damp  earth,  moist  trees,  sun- 
kissed,  opening,  baby  leaves.  I  inspected  our  apple 
tree,  which  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  lawn,  with 
close  attention.  It  is  the  only  tree  we  possess.  I 
looked  for  a  promise  of  blossom.  "Perhaps  .  .  . 
yes,  in  a  month's  time,"  I  said.  I  wandered  dowTi 
the  garden  to  the  fence  which  divides  us  from  the 
frog-pond  field.  A  garden  set  at  the  edge  of  a  field 
is  a  most  cunning  device,  especially  when  the  field 
contains  well-grown  trees  (wliich  hang  over  the 
fence,  dipping  and  swaying  and  holding  converse 
of  the  friendliest  description  with  your  own  denizens 
of  the  garden)  and  a  frog-pond  into  the  bargain. 
The  croaking  of  frogs  may  not  be  musical,  but  it 
may  be  welcomed  as  one  of  the  surest  notifications 
of  the  advent  of  spring.     Mr.  Frog  is  courting  Miss. 

37 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Frog.  He  says,  "  Listen  to  my  voice,"  on  which  he 
emits  a  harsh,  rasping  sound,  somewhat  resembhng 
the  note  of  the  corncrake.  Miss  Frog  is  probably 
very  impressed.     So  are  Dimbie  and  I. 

"  So  countrified,"  says  Dimbie,  drawing  a  long, 
deep  breath  of  the  sweet,  pure  air. 

"So  far  from  the  madding  crowd,"  say  I. 
"Who  ever  hears  a  frog  near  the  big,  noisy 
towns  ?  " 

By  and  by  we  shall  see  little  black  eggs,  embedded 
in  a  gelatinous  substance,  floating  about  the  surface 
of  the  water.  Later  on  there  will  be  tadpoles,  and 
then  more  frogs. 

The  beech  tree,  I  think,  is  the  most  kindly  dis- 
posed of  all  the  brethren  to  us  dwellers  of  the  garden. 
A  lime  nods  to  the  apple  tree,  which  is  exactly  in  its 
line  of  vision,  but  the  beech  leans  and  leans  over  the 
fence,  craning  its  neck,  holding  out  long,  beautiful 
branches,  which  so  soon  will  be  decorated  with  a 
delicate  lace-work  of  the  most  exquisitely  tender  of 
all  the  spring  greens.  The  beech  is  a  long  time  in 
unfolding  her  treasures  —  the  sycamore  and  chest- 
nut can  give  her  many  days;  but  when  she  does 
consent  to  open  out  her  leaves,  what  a  wealth  of 
beauty ! 

On  this  morning  I  thought  I  could  almost  see 
them  uncurling  in  the  sunshine,  hear  them  laughing 
at  their  old  friend  the  lime.  I  could  have  dallied 
with  them,  anxious  to  hear  what  they  had  to  say, 

38 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

what  sort  of  a  winter  had  been  theirs,  but  Dimbie 
and  breakfast  must  be  waiting  for  me. 

I  sped  into  the  house,  just  in  time  to  see  Dimbie 
removing  the  dish  cover.  I  paused  in  the  doorway 
to  witness  his  smile  of  pleasure  at  finding  an  omelet 
—  a  savoury  parsley  omelet  —  before  liim,  but  no 
smile  came.  In  its  place  was  a  blank  look  of 
inquiry. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"What's  this.^"  he  returned. 

"An  omelet."     I  walked  quickly  to  the  table. 

"  Oh,  is  it  ?  "  he  said  quite  politely. 

We  stood  together  and  looked  at  the  thing.  It 
was  very  small  and  thin,  and  hard  and  spotty. 

"I  thought  it  was  veal  stuffing."  He  was  grave 
and  still  quite  courteous. 

"  It  looks  like  a  bit  of  old  blanket,"  I  observed. 

"  It  doesn't  look  wholesome,  do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"I  think  it  looks  most  unwholesome."  I  put  my 
hand  on  the  bell. 

"Wait,"  he  said,  "Amelia  might  be  hurt;  let's 
give  it  to  Jumbles." 

But  Jumbles  was  a  wise  cat.  He  smelt  it,  stood 
up  his  hair  on  end,  and  walked  away.  And  so  we 
burnt  it. 

When  I  ordered  some  bacon  to  be  cooked  Amelia 
asked  me  how  we  had  enjoyed  the  omelet, 

"  It  was  a  little  small,"  I  said  evasively. 

"  Just  a  little  small,"  said  Dimbie  cheerfully. 
39 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  That  must  be  the  fault  of  the  egg-powder,  there 
was  no  eggs  in  the  house,"  she  said  as  she  bustled 
out  of  the  room. 

Dimbie  peeped  at  me  and  I  peeped  at  Dimbie,  and 
we  both  broke  into  suppressed  laughter. 

"I  always  said  she  was  the  most  resourceful  girl 
I  had  ever  met." 

"She  is,"  I  groaned;  "and  I  thought  it  would  be 
such  a  beautiful  surprise  to  you." 

"It  was,  dearest,"  he  assured  me;  "never  was  so 
surprised  at  anything  in  my  life." 

I  handed  him  my  present  and  looked  at  him 
anxiously.  Would  this  too  be  a  disappointment  ? 
He  had  talked  of  pipe-racks  so  frequently  —  of  the 
foolish  construction  of  the  ordinary  rack,  wliich, 
supporting  the  bowl  of  the  pipe  at  the  top,  naturally 
encourages  the  evil-tasting  nicotine  to  flow  dov/n 
the  stem.  This  I  had  had  made  specially  for  him 
of  the  most  beautiful  fumed  oak.  The  bowls  of  his 
pipes  could  now  rest  sensibly,  the  stems  pointing 
skywards.  His  pleasure  was  unfeigned.  He  left 
his  breakfast  to  hang  it  up  and  kiss  me. 

"  How  clever  you  are,  Marg,"  he  said.  "  How  did 
you  know?" 

"You  have  sometimes  mentioned  it." 

He  laughed. 

"  I  have  derived  a  considerable  amount  of  useful 
information  from  you  one  way  or  another.  I  may 
even  become  capable  in  the  end." 

40 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"There's  no  knowing,"  he  agreed. 

Then  we  fell  to  making  our  plans  for  the  day. 
It  was  not  often  that  Dimbie  took  a  holiday,  we 
must  make  the  most  of  it.  We  would  cycle  to  some 
pine  woods  at  Oxshott  which  we  knew  well  and 
loved  greatly.  We  would  lunch  there  by  the  side 
of  a  little  pool  set  in  a  hollow  —  Sleepy  Hollow  we 
called  it.  It  would  be  warm  there  and  sunn}^  for 
the  trees  had  withdrawn  to  the  right  and  left,  and  it 
was  open  to  the  sun  and  rain  and  wind  of  heaven. 
When  we  had  rested  we  would  go  to  a  dingle  where 
I  knew  primrose  roots  were  to  be  found.  W^hat 
corner  and  nook  and  hidden  by-way  and  bridle- 
path in  our  beautiful  Surrey  were  unknown  to  mc  ? 
I  had  flown  to  them  from  Peter.  I  had  spent  long 
days  in  the  fields,  on  the  commons,  in  the  pine  woods 
away  from  Peter.  My  bicycle  was  a  friend  in  need. 
Peter  couldn't  cycle.  Nothing  short  of  a  motor-car 
could  catch  me  on  my  bicycle.  Peter  hadn't  a 
motor-car.  Motor-cars,  bicycles,  and  truant  girls 
were  an  invention  of  the  devil.  I  would  laugh  in  my 
sleeve,  while  Peter  swore. 

I  am  introducing  Dimbie  to  a  lot  of  my  old 
haunts.     Two  on  their  travels  are  better  than  one. 

Amelia  packed  our  lunch  and  asked  when  we 
would  be  home. 

"It  is  impossible  to  say,"  I  told  her.  "When  one 
rides  away  into  the  country  or  into  a  sunset  or  into 
a  moonrise  one  may  never  return." 

41 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

And  Amelia  stared  as  she  does  sometimes  when  I 
cannot  keep  the  laughter  and  happiness  out  of  my 
voice. 

"There's  the  steak,"  she  said. 

"  Cook  it  when  we  come  in,"  I  called  as  I  followed 
Dimbie  through  the  wooden  gate  —  which  is  such 
a  joy  to  me,  as  it  might  have  been  iron  —  and  down 
the  lane. 

How  glorious  it  was  as  we  spun  along  the  smooth, 
red  roads,  and  felt  the  sun  and  wind  on  our  faces, 
and  breathed  spring  —  for  spring  was  everywhere ! 

"  Go  on  in  front,  Marg,"  commanded  Dimbie, 
"  I  want  to  look  at  the  sun  on  your  hair.  It's  like 
pure  gold." 

I  humoured  his  fancy. 

"  I  want  to  feel  it,"  he  called,  "  to  stroke  it,  it 
looks  quite  hot.     Let's  stop  for  a  rest." 

We  dismounted,  and  sat  down  on  a  bank. 

*'You  won't  ruffle  it.?"  I  said. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "I'll  be  awfully  careful." 

Then  he  stroked  the  back  of  my  head  the  wrong 
way,  the  dear  old  way  he  has  always  stroked  it. 

"  I  do  love  you,  sweetheart,"  he  murmured,  kissing 
the  nape  of  my  neck.  "There  never  was  a  Mar- 
guerite like  mine." 

It  is  at  such  moments  that  the  tears  come  un- 
bidden, tears  of  intense  happiness. 

Will  Dimbie  ever  reahse  how  much  I  love  him? 
My  words  are  few.     I  remember  what  Nanty  said, 

42 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

although  she  has  now  recalled  her  advice.  I  don't 
seem  to  be  able  to  let  Dimbie  know  what  he  is  to 
me.  Human  language  is  not  sufficient,  speech  is  so 
bald.  Sometimes  in  the  night,  when  he  is  asleep, 
I  press  my  lips  to  his  kinky  hair,  but  I'm  always 
afraid  he  will  awake  and  find  me  out,  and  I  whisper, 
"  God,  I  thank  Thee  for  Dimbie." 

A  lark  was  singing  rapturously  above  us  far  away 
out  of  sight,  a  thrush  was  breathing  forth  liquid 
notes  of  silver,  and  a  little  golden  gorse  bush  was 
giving  of  its  best  and  sweetest  to  the  inmates  of  the 
grassy  lane. 

What  a  beautiful  thing  is  a  lane  in  which  the 
grass  runs  softly  riotous.  A  street  of  pure  gold,  as 
it  were  transparent  glass,  was  what  St.  John  saw  in 
his  vision.  To  me  such  a  street,  hard  and  metallic, 
would  be  a  disappointment.  I  want  in  my  heaven 
cool,  grassy  lanes,  soothing  and  comforting  to  tired 
feet. 

"What  a  birthday!"  said  Dimbie.  "I  want 
always  to  stop  at  thirty-one,  and  sit  on  a  bank 
with  you  and  look  at  your  hair  in  the  sun,  sweet- 
heart." 

"You'd  get  tired  of  it." 

"  Never,"  he  vowed.  "  What  a  lucky  thing  it  was 
for  me  your  getting  mixed  up  in  that  wire  netting. 
Girls  are  very  helpless." 

"  But  they  manage  somehow  to  get  out  of  their 
difficulties,"  I  laughed,  and  we  sat  a  little  closer. 

43 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

**  Marguerite,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  would  you  like 
a  — child?" 

I  felt  the  colour  rise  to  my  cheeks  as  I  shook  my 
head. 

He  stooped  and  kissed  me. 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  he  whispered.  "  I  wouldn't  either. 
We  don't  want  anyone  but  each  other,  do  we?" 

"  Perhaps  —  some  day,"  I  faltered. 

"Well,  perhaps  some  day,"  he  assented  a  little 
reluctantly.  "  People  with  children  seem  so  beastly 
selfish  to  everybody  but  the  children.  They've  no 
thought  for  anybody  else,  no  interest.  You  say  to 
'em,  '  My  house  was  burnt  down  last  night.'  They 
look .  a  little  vague  and  reply,  '  How  unfortunate. 
Johnny  has  contracted  measles.'  Really  anxious  to 
impress  them,  you  go  on  to  tell  them  that  your 
mother  has  just  died  from  heart  failure,  and  they 
say, '  How  distressing.  INIary  has  passed  her  matric' 
You  want  to  curse  Mary,  but  you  daren't.  They 
represent  all  that  is  holy,  all  that  is  extraordinary 
(in  their  own  eyes),  all  that  is  happiness;  they  are 
parents.  You  stand  outside  the  door  of  the  holy  of 
holies.  You  know  not  the  meaning  of  the  words 
life,  joy,  fatherhood,  motherhood.  The  sun  and 
the  moon  only  shine  for  them.  The  stars  twinkle, 
and  the  flowers  bloom,  only  for  the  children." 

He  paused  and  sighed  deeply.  I  laughed,  and 
patted  his  hand. 

"  How  do  you  know  all  this  ?  " 
44 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*'I  have  a  married  sister,  remember.  When  she 
went  abroad  with  Gladys  and  Maxwell  I  was 
unfeignedly  relieved.  They  were  getting  on  my 
nerves,  father  included." 

"But  this  is  the  age  of  children,  remember,  the 
golden  age.  Before  they  were  kept  in  the  back- 
ground, now " 

"  They  are  never  off  the  foreground,"  said  Dimbie 
gloomily.  "  They  are  in  the  drawing-room  monopo- 
lising the  entire  attention  of  the  guests.  If  the 
guests  don't  want  'em  the  mothers  are  pained. 
You  are  a  heartless  brute,  selfish  and  self-centred. 
It  never  seems  to  strike  them  tliey  are  the  ones  who 
are  self-centred." 

"But  that  is  not  the  poor  children's  fault,"  I 
said.  "Children  are  dears  when  they  are  properly 
trained." 

"No,  perhaps  not.  The  children  might  be  jolly, 
simple,  unself-conscious  little  beggars  if  they  got 
the  chance,  but  they  don't.  As  it  is,  most  of  'em 
are  detestable." 

"But"  — I  began. 

"  Come  on,  Marg,"  he  said,  helping  me  up.  "  You 
can't  make  out  a  good  case  for  the  modern  parents 
however  hard  you  try.     Let  us  be  getting  on." 

We  made  straight  for  Sleepy  Hollow  and  our  pool 
when  we  arrived  at  the  woods,  and  set  our  cloth  at 
the  edge  of  its  banks.  Such  a  quiet  pool,  it  might 
be  fast  asleep.     No  insects  hum  o'er  its  unruffed 

45 


Dimbie  and  1  —  and  Amelia 

surface.  No  birds  twitter  in  the  tall  sedges  which 
hug  it  on  three  sides.  No  fish  rise,  for  what  would 
be  the  use  when  there  are  no  insects  or  flies.  Away 
in  every  direction  the  pine  trees  stretch,  filling  the 
air  with  their  clean,  resinous  odour. 

We  spread  our  mackintoshes  in  the  very  sunniest 
spot,  and  Dimbie  threw  himself  on  his  back,  while 
I  sat  cross-legged  in  tailor  fashion. 

"  Don't  you  want  any  lunch  .^ "  I  asked  presently. 

"Rather,"  he  returned,  sitting  up.  "What  have 
you  got  —  omelets  ?  " 

"  That,"  I  said,  "  is  disagreeable  of  you.  Amelia's 
efforts  were  well  meant." 

"Hope  she  won't  have  any  more,"  he  said,  with 
his  mouth  full  of  pie. 

"  Amelia  will  never  cease  to  surprise  us  as  long  as 
she  lives  with  us.  She  is  a  curious  mixture  of 
extreme  cleverness  and  astonishing  simphcity.  And 
I  believe  her  heart's  in  the  right  place,  though  it  is 
diflScult  to  tell,  so  surrounded  is  it  by  bones  and 
patches." 

I  fell  to  thinking  of  her,  and  forgot  Dimbie  and 
the  lunch.  Amelia  will  have  much  to  answer  for, 
for  displacement  of  my  thoughts.  Before  I  only 
thought  of  Dimbie;  now  Amelia  edges  in,  try  as  I 
will  to  keep  her  out.  Why  should  my  mind  be 
taken  up  wath  a  Cockney  girl  educated  in  the  Mile 
End  Road.^     I  object. 

Dimbie  took  me  away  from  her. 
46 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*'By  Jove,  isn't  it  stunning  here!  The  sun  is  as 
hot  as  in  June.  I  want  a  series  of  birthdays  in 
which  to  ride  away  with  you  farther  and  farther  till 
we  reach  the  sea.  Then  we  can  sit  upon  the  sands 
and  tell  glad  stories  of  our  love.  And  you  must 
always  wear  that  blue  serge  frock  and  let  the  sun 
wander  through  your  hair  as  it  is  doing  now." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  there  is  nothing  more  you 
want.''"  I  inquired. 

"  Yes,  I  want  to  kiss  you  —  that  httle  spot  on  your 
right  cheek  which  is  pink  and  sunburnt." 

"  Well,  you  can't,"  I  replied.  "  If  you  move  you 
will  upset  the  claret  and  glasses." 

"Don't  care,"  he  said,  and  as  he  kissed  me  a 
man  appeared  from  among  the  pine  trees. 

"Oh!"  we  both  ejaculated,  shooting  back  our 
heads. 

He  stood  and  looked  at  us  with  an  amused 
expression. 

"  Don't  mind  me,"  he  said  quite  politely,  seat- 
ing himself  on  the  stump  of  a  tree  pretty  close 
to   us. 

"  But  I  am  afraid  we  do,"  Dimbie  said  equally 
politely. 

"  I've  seen  that  sort  of  thing  dozens  of  times," 
he  continued  in  a  detached  sort  of  manner. 

We  sat  and  eyed  him  indignantly. 

"In  fact,  I  rather  like  it,"  he  went  on  impertur- 
bably. 

47 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  Oh,  do  you  ?  "  Dimbie's  sarcasm  was  sharp  as 
a  knife. 

"Yes,  I  find  it  refreshing  after  my  work.  I  am 
a  balloonist,  and  have  done  considerable  research 
work  in  aerial  flight.  I  built  an  aerodrome  once,  a 
steam-driven  flying  machine.  It  went  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  and  killed  my  mother  on  the 
way." 

"Oh!"  I  said,  shocked.  Dimbie  was  staring  at 
the  sky. 

"Yes;  sad,  wasn't  it?  But  she  was  eighty-seven. 
And  I  am  sure,  could  she  have  had  the  choice,  she 
would  have  preferred  a  sudden,  practically  painless 
death  to  a  long,  lingering  illness." 

"So  did  you  build  this  aerodrome  on  purpose  to 
finish  her  off  }  "  I  inquired  with  interest. 

Dimbie  smothered  a  laugh,  and  the  man  looked 
at  me  thoughtfully,  but  didn't  seem  offended. 

"Well,  no,"  he  replied,  "I  can  hardly  say  that. 
I  merely  meant  that  it  was  just  a  bit  of  luck  for  my 
mother.  I  hope,  by  the  way,  I  am  not  disturbing 
you." 

"Not  very  much,"  I  answered,  before  Dimbie 
could  speak. 

"That's  right.  I  don't  like  being  de  trop,  or  in 
the  way;  get  yourself  disliked." 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  say  to  this,  and 
Dimbie  and  I  peeped  at  one  another  and  endeav- 
oured not  to  laugh. 

48 


(OXTp'l-ArJG 


PUOFESSOR   LeIGHRAIL 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

The  stranger  looked  at  us  thoughtfully,  benevo- 
lently almost.  His  face  was  extremely  thin  and 
worn,  his  hands  delicate,  and  his  boots  too  large 
for  him.  There  was  a  refinement  about  his  whole 
personality  above  the  ordinary,  and  I  liked  him. 

"Have  some  lunch.?"  Dimbie  said,  beginning  to 
unbend.  "  There  isn't  any  pie  left,  but  there's  lots 
of  bread  and  cheese  and  some  fruit." 

'"No,  thank  you.  I  have  some  lunch  in  my 
pocket,  so  with  your  permission  I  will  eat  it  with 
you." 

He  produced  an  envelope,  and  taking  out  a  brown 
lozenge  began  to  suck  it.  When  he  had  finished 
this  he  extracted  a  second,  and  then  a  third.  Then 
from  his  coat  pocket  he  produced  a  tin  cup,  dipped 
it  into  a  stream  which  feeds  the  pool,  drank,  returned 
it  to  his  pocket,  and  leant  back  in  a  finished  way. 

"Is  that  all  you  are  going  to  have.^"  I  couldn't 
resist  asking  in  astonishment. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Being  a  balloonist,  I  am 
obliged  to  eat  sparingl}^  so  take  my  meat  in  a  con- 
centrated form.  I'm  one  of  the  thinnest  men  in 
Great  Britain,  and  usually  wear  two  coats  to  hide 
my  lean  appearance.  Would  you  like  to  feel  my 
ribs?" 

He  asked  this  simple  though  somewhat  unusual 
question  in  exactly  the  same  way  as  a  man  might 
ask  you  to  see  his  Velasquez. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  we  both  said  together. 
49 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"They're  worth  feeling,"  he  said,  a  little  dis- 
appointed. 

We  assured  him  of  our  belief  in  his  veracity. 

"A  bit  prudish,  eh.^"     He  turned  towards  me. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  I  replied  indignantly;  "but 
to  be  quite  candid,  I'm  not  very  interested  in  your 
ribs.  You  see,  we  don't  know  you  very  well  yet," 
I  added,  to  soften  the  blow. 

"Where  do  you  live.'^"  he  asked. 

We  told  him  in  guarded  language. 

"Within  two  miles  of  Leith  Hill.  Pretty  coun- 
try.?" 

We  nodded. 

"  W  hat's  the  name  of  your  house  ? "  was  his  next 
question. 

"  Have  you  taken  a  great  fancy  to  us  ? "  Dimbie 
inquired  sweetly. 

"Very,"  he  said.  "Don't  remember  taking  a 
greater  fancy  to  anybody.  You  seem  so  ridiculously 
happy  and  young." 

Dimbie's  and  my  face,  I  fear,  wore  the  expression 
of  happiness  fleeting. 

"I'm  going  now,"  he  said  rising.  "If  you  had 
favoured  me  with  the  name  of  your  house  I  might 
have  dropped  in  on  you  some  day  from  my  balloou." 

This  sounded  rather  interesting. 

"One  Tree  Cottage,"  we  said  together. 

He  laughed. 

"Might  have  known  it  would  be  a  cottage.  You 
50 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

both  look  so  exactly  like  a  cottage  —  lattice  windows, 
roses  and  honeysuckle  thrown  in.  Quite  common- 
place, if  you  only  knew  it." 

"Good  afternoon,  sir,"  said  Dimbie  in  an  extin- 
guishing voice. 

The  stranger  smiled  good-humouredly. 

"Now  you're  going  to  get  offended  with  me," 
said  he,  "and  I  am  sorry.  But  you  take  my  word 
for  it,  there  are  scores  of  young  couples  in  lattice- 
windowed  cottages  —  or  would  like  to  be  in  lattice- 
windowed  cottages  —  with  honeysuckle  and  roses 
and  a  baby.  It's  the  craze  now  to  hve  in  a  cottage. 
We  avoided  them  as  you  would  the  plague  in  my 
young  days  —  insanitary,  stuffy,  no  gas,  no  hot 
water,  floors  with  hills  in  them,  walls  with  mould 
in  them,  skirtings  with  rats  in  them.  Yours  is  like 
that,  I  expect." 

We  vouchsafed  no  reply. 

"  And  your  drains  —  I  expect  they're  all  wrong. 
Most  cottage  drains  are  abominable." 

"We  have  a  drain-bamboo,"  I  said  eagerly. 
"Amelia  uses  it  regularly." 

"Amelia  sounds  a  sensible  young  person.  I 
should  like  to  see  her  and  the  cottage.  I'm  interested 
in  young  people.  I  was  young  myself  once,  though 
you  mightn't  think  it." 

"Perhaps  it  was  some  time  ago,"  I  observed. 

"Yes,  it's  a  long  time."  His  eyes  became  remi- 
niscent.    "I  jumped  into  an  old  man  the  day  my 

51 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

wife  died,  very  old.  Then  I  took  up  ballooning.  I 
thought  that  might  prove  the  surest  method  of  end- 
ing myself  —  short  of  suicide.  Don't  like  suicide 
—  unpleasant  and  dramatic."  He  still  spoke  with 
cheerful  detachment. 

"  And  are  you  a  professional  balloonist  —  ascend 
from  the  Crystal  Palace  and  that  sort  of  thing  ?  "  I 
asked. 

He  looked  at  me  with  amused  surprise,  I  imagined, 
for  an  instant;  in  fact,  he  laughed. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  am  not  a  professional.  I  am  engaged 
on  various  work.  Generally  pretty  busy.  Balloon- 
ing is  my  hobby.  If  you've  plenty  to  do  you  can't 
be  lonely." 

"  We  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you,"  I  said,  sud- 
denly feeling  very  sorry  for  this  eccentric  person. 
A  shadow  had  crept  across  his  face  as  he  had  spoken. 
How  dreadful  to  be  lonely,  I  thought.  "  Our  village 
is  Pine  Tree  Valley.  We  searched  about  till  we 
found  a  place  set  among  the  pines.  I  love  them  so. 
Perhaps  you  will  dine  with  us  one  evening  ?  " 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  he  said  quickly,  "but  I 
never  dine  with  people.  They  invariably  eat  fatten- 
ing, indigestible  things.  If  I  went  out  to  dinner  I 
shouldn't  have  ribs  like  knife  blades."  He  spoke 
quite  proudly.  "But  I  should  like  to  call  and  see 
the  baby." 

"There  isn't  a  baby."  Dimbie's  voice  was  irri- 
table, and  my  cheeks  were  scarlet. 

52 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said.     "  We  hadn't  one  eitlier." 

"  And  did  you  mind  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Not  a  bit  while  Amabella  was  ahve.  But  when 
she  died  I  was  a  great  deal  alone,  and  the  house 
seemed  big  and  empty.  I  think  it  is  a  mistake  not 
to  have  children."     He  looked  at  me  a  trifle  severely. 

"We've  only  been  married  a  little  over  three 
months,"  Dimbie  explained  apologetically. 

"Ah,  well,  that  makes  a  difference,  of  course. 
You've  got  plenty  of  time.  Good-bye,  and  may  I 
give  you  my  card  ?  " 

He  fished  one  out  of  the  pocket  which  contained 
the  tin  mug.     It  was  a  little  soiled  and  wet. 

"It  is  unnecessary  to  give  me  one  of  yours,"  he 
said  with  a  smile.  "I  don't  v^'ant  to  know  your 
name.  I  shall  just  ask  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smiling- 
face,  who  live  in  a  tiresome,  typhoid-inviting, 
creeper-covered  cottage.  Good-bye,"  and  before 
we  could  speak  he  had  gone. 

With  interest  we  examined  the  card :  — 

Mr.  MONTGOMERY  LEIGHRAIL, 

THE  GREY  HOUSE, 
ESHER. 

Dimbie  sat  down  and  opened  his  blue  eyes  so 
wide  that  the  crook  in  his  nose  moved  in  sympathy, 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"Marg,"  he  said  solemnly,  "do  you  know  what 
you  have  done  ? " 

53 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"No,"  I  replied;  "hurry  up  and  tell  me." 

"You  have  refused  to  feel  the  ribs  of  one  of  the 
greatest  scientists  of  the  world.  That  was  Professor 
Leighrail." 

"Well,  he  ought  to  have  known  better  thaa  to 
have  asked  me,"  I  said,  refusing  to  be  impressed. 

At  which  Dimbie  fell  back  and  chuckled  softly 
for  some  minutes. 


54 


CHAPTER  V 

A  LETTER  FROJVI  MISS  FAIRBROTHER 

BEYOND  the  fact  that  I  have  received  a  letter 
from  Miss  Fairbrother,  there  seems  to  be 
nothing  of  any  real  importance  to-day  to  enter  in 
my  "daily-round."  I  call  my  journal  my  "daily- 
round,"  though  it  isn't  anything  of  the  kind,  for  I 
only  scribble  in  it  when  I  have  nothing  else  to  do, 
and  when  I  am  waiting  for  Dimbie  to  come  home. 
I  always  seem  to  be  waiting  for  Dimbie  to  come 
home,  and  yet  I  don't  always  write  in  my  "daily- 
round";  I  wait  for  moods.  Dimbie  calls  it  my 
recipe  book.  He  says  it  looks  like  one,  with  its 
ruled  lines  and  mottled  brawn  stiff  covers.  He 
wants  to  read  it,  but  this  I  won't  permit.  I  say, 
"Dimbie,  within  those  covers  are  the  meanderings 
of  a  new  wife,  I  mean  a  newly-made  wife.  It  could 
be  of  no  interest  to  you  to  read:  'I  have  ordered 
two  pounds  of  steak  for  dinner.  Amelia  is  un- 
usually squeaky  to-day,'  but  they  are  of  vital 
interest  to  me."  Journals  can  only  be  of  interest 
to  the  people  who  write  them.  There  are,  of  course, 
exceptions,    such  as   Pepys   and   Evelyn  —  I   have 

55 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

not  read  either  of  them,  but  they  may  have  made 
notes  of  really  important  events.  I  don't,  for  I 
have  none  to  note.  Besides,  I  never  know  the  date. 
Properly  constructed  journals  have  dates.  I  only 
know  the  month  we  are  in.  I  have  an  idea  whether 
it  is  the  beginning  or  the  end,  but  if  anyone  were  to 
say  to  me,  "What  is  the  day  of  the  month?"  I 
should  be  extremely  flurried.  I  always  find,  too, 
that  people  who  ask  you  the  date  know  it  much 
better  themselves.  If  you  say  it  is  the  sixteenth 
they  flatly  contradict  you  and  say  they  are  sure  it  is 
the  seventeenth.  Peter  was  always  like  that.  He 
would  sit  do^Ti  at  the  writing-table  in  the  library 
with  a  calendar  hanging  right  In  front  of  his  nose, 
and  would  suddenly  pounce  upon  poor  mother  with, 
"What  is  the  date?"  Mother,  not  knowing  any 
more  about  dates  than  I,  would  gently  refer  him  to 
the  calendar.  Peter  would  not  be  referred  to  calen- 
dars. Mother  should  know  dates  the  same  as  otheif 
sensible  people.  Then  there  would  be  ructions. 
Peter  would  show  mother  and  me  what  could  be  done 
with  an  ordinary  pair  of  lungs.  I  used  to  think 
what  splendid  bellows  Peter's  lungs  would  make. 
One  day  I  ventured  upon  this  to  him,  I  asked  him 
to  blow  up  the  fire.  I  shall  never  forget  the  result. 
His  facial  contortions  and  the  noise  he  made  were 
out  of  the  common. 

I  am  wondering  if  he  makes  those  noises  now. 
Mother  was  always  a  little  gentler  and  more  yield- 

56 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

ing  to  him  than  I,  so  perhaps  the  house  is  quieter 
since  I  left.  I  don't  see  them  very  much.  Not 
possessing  a  carriage,  and  the  journey  by  train  being 
a  little  cross  country,  we  do  not  exchange  many 
visits,  Peter  won't  allow  mother  to  come  alone, 
and  of  course  when  he  comes  everything  is  spoilt. 
He  does  not  believe  in  private  confidential  talks 
between  women.  He  says  that  most  of  it  is  ill- 
natured  gossip,  and  I  have  never  heard  mother  say 
an  unkind  word  of  anybody  in  her  life. 

I  did  not  mean  to  write  of  Peter  this  morning. 
My  head  was  full  of  Miss  Fairbrothcr. 

Such  a  delightful  letter  from  her.  Dimbie  was 
as  much  interested  in  it  as  I.     She  says  — 

"'I  am  thirty-five  to-day.  Yes,  I  have  reached 
half  the  allotted  age  of  man.  The  Psalmist  was  a 
little  mean  and  skimpy,  I  think,  to  limit  one's  years 
to  threescore  and  ten.  Probably  he  was  old  for 
his  age,  having  crowded  a  good  deal  into  his  life. 
And  all  those  wives  and  sons  of  his  were  enough  to 
make  any  man  feel  tired.' " 

I  looked  up  and  laughed. 

"Go  on,"  said  Dimbie. 

'"Thirty-five  will  appear  to  twenty-three  a  great 
and  mysterious  age  —  mysterious  in  the  way  that 
death  is  mysterious;  a  state  at  which  to  arrive  at 
some  dim  and  future  period  —  very  dim,  very  far 
off  when  you  are  but  twenty-three. 

"'And  yet  my  years  sit  lightly  upon  me.  I  can 
57 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

still  run,  though  not  so  swiftly  as  of  old.  I  can  still 
laugh,  though  India  is  very  hot  and  very  sad  in  some 
of  its  aspects.  I  still  wear  cotton  frocks  —  perhaps 
the  last  foolishly;  but  what  is  one  to  do  in  an  Indian 
chmate,  and  when  one  has  to  count  up  the  pennies 
in  readiness  for  the  old  age  which  must  come? 
Muslin  I  eschew  as  being  too  airy  and  girhsh  for  one 
of  rounded  proportions,  but  mercerised  cotton  is  my 
salvation.  Praised  be  the  Lancasliire  cotton  mills! 
Do  you  happen  to  have  met  with  mercerised  cotton .? 
It  is  deceitful,  for  it  tries  to  cheat  you  into  believing 
that  when  you  don  it  you  straightv/ay  have  a  silken 
appearance.  It  may  deceive  you,  but  it  certainly 
does  not  deceive  the  other  women  of  the  station. 
You  read  in  their  uplifted  glance  "  six-three,"  which 
means  sixpence  three  farthings.  You  don't  care 
dreadfully,  for  are  you  not  cool  and  most  suitably 
attired  as  a  governess  ? 

You  ask  me,  dear  Marguerite,  what  I  am  doing. 
I  am  still  existing  in  a  pink  bungalow  endeavouring 
to  teach  two  poor,  hot,  sticky  children.  Of  course 
it  is  cool  now,  but  the  hot  weather  will  return  once 
more,  and  then  they  are  going  home  to  that  cool, 
green  garden  whose  other  name  is  England,  and  my 
work  will  be  finished.  This  makes  the  fourth 
batch  of  children  who  have  left  me  during  the  years 
I  have  been  here.  And  now  that  garden  is  calling 
me,  calling  me  with  a  voice  not  to  be  resisted,  and 
I  too  am  "going  home." 

58 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*"You,  little  old  pupil,  will  be  one  of  the  first 
persons  upon  whom  I  shall  leave  cards.  Marguerite 
married  is  a  person  of  importance  now.  Her  two 
fair  pigtails  went  "  up  "  long  ago,  but  she  will  always 
remain  the  little  old  pupil  to  me. 

"'Then,  too,  I  badly  want  to  see  this  wonderful 
husband  of  yours.  He  won't  be  nice  to  me.  A 
young  husband,  I  think,  is  rarely  devoted  to  his  wife's 
old  friends.  But  I  shan't  mind.  I  shan't  resent 
it.     I  shall  understand.'  " 

I  stopped  again  to  laugh  up  at  Dimbie,  who  was 
leaning  over  me. 

*'  She  seems  a  very  sensible  woman,"  he  remarked. 

"There  never  was  anyone  quite  so  sensible  as 
Miss  Fairbrother,"  I  returned.  "She  could  even 
manage  Peter  in  a  fashion,  and  mother  was  devoted 
to  her.  One  of  the  very  cleverest  things  mother  ever 
did  was  to  find  Miss  Fairbrother." 

"Please  finish,"  said  Dimbie,  " or  I  shall  miss  my 
train." 

" '  Your  charming  present,  for  which  many  thanks, 
has  already  raised  me  some  inches  in  the  eyes  of  the 
women  out  here.  For  long  they  have  been  trying 
to  persuade  me  into  wearing  a  hair-frame.  You 
will  probably  know  the  thing  I  mean  —  a  round, 
evil-looking,  hairy  bolster,  over  which  unpleasantness 
you  comb  your  own  hair,  hoping  to  delude  mankind 
into  the  belief  that  you  have  come  of  parentage  of 
Samsonian  characteristics.     Now  this  beautiful  jew- 

59 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

elled  comb  of  yours  adds  somewhat  to  my  stature 
when,  with  an  attempt  —  somewhat  feeble,  I  fear  — 
at  hiffh  coiffured  hair,  I  swim.,  hke  Meredith's 
heroines,  or  try  to  swdm,  into  dinner.  They  almost 
pardon  my  lack  of  a  bolster  when  their  eyes  rest  upon 
such  m^odishness.  A  little  less  spinster-governess, 
they  think.  And  I  translate  their  thought  and  smile. 
"'Always  your  most  affectionate, 

"'Egoist.'" 

"Egoist,  indeed!"  I  said  musingly,  as  I  folded 
the  letter  and  took  a  photograph  out  of  my  desk  — 
a  photograph  of  a  strong,  smiHng  face,  w'ith  low, 
broad  forehead,  over  which  the  hair  was  parted  on 
one  side,  clear,  unflinching  eyes,  and  large  mobile 
mouth. 

"  Why  don't  you  put  her  into  a  frame  somewhere 
about  the  room?"  asked  Dimbie.  "It  is  a  fine 
face." 

"  Because  I  promised  her  she  should  never  be  on 
view.  She  imagined  she  was  plain.  I  think  clever 
people  are  as  sensitive  about  their  looks  as  stupid." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Dimbie,  with  a  fine  disregard 
of  all  trains.     "Was  she  very  clever?" 

I  was  pleased  at  his  interest  in  my  much-loved 
governess. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  replied.  "I  am  not  clever 
enough  to  know.  But  whatever  she  said  seemed  to 
me  intensely  interesting.     INIother  and  even  Peter 

60 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

were  inclined  to  hang  on  her  words.  She  was  so 
witty,  so  gay;  she  had  such  a  sense  of  humour. 
You  see,  she  was  only  twenty-eight  when  she  left. 
She  came  to  us  when  she  was  twenty,  just  after 
taking  a  most  fearful  degree.  Mother  says  Peter 
most  strongly  objected  to  this  degree;  that  he  said 
women  should  only  take  things  like  measles  and 
scarlet  fever,  and  be  feminine,  remembering  their 
place  in  nature,  and  not  try  to  be  clever;  and  that 
if  only  Miss  Fairbrother  would  do  her  hair  properly 
and  wear  white-lace  petticoats,  she  even  might  get 
married  —  there  was  no  telling.  And  mother  argued 
that  she  did  not  wish  Miss  Fairbrother  to  be  married 
till  she  had  thoroughly  grounded  me  and  prepared 
me  for  that  high-class  boarding  school,  Lynton 
House. 

"And  I  recollect  Peter  snorted  at  this,  and  said 
that  if  Miss  Fairbrother  could  just  manage  to  knock 
a  little  writing,  reading,  and  arithmetic  into  my 
head  and  teach  me  to  sew  and  knit,  he,  for  one, 
would  be  satisfied.  And  he  forbade  anyone  —  man 
or  woman  —  to  instruct  me  in  the  art  of  painting 
flowers,  afterwards  to  be  framed  and  stuck  on  his 
walls.  I  cannot  convey  to  you  the  scorn  in  his 
voice  as  he  shouted  the  words  'painting  flowers.'" 

"  I  think  he  was  right  there,"  said  Dimbie. 

"So  do  I,"  I  laughed;  "but  Peter  had  forgotten 
that  the  painting  of  still  life  was  a  product  of  a 
bygone  age.     To  imagine  Miss  Fairbrother  teaching 

61 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Tne  such  an  art  would  be  to  imagine  her  teaching 
me  how  to  embroider  wool-work  pictures.  Granny 
worked  two  fierce  cats  with  spreading,  startled 
whiskers,  in  Berlin  wool.  They  adorn  my  old 
nursery  walls  to  this  day.  Miss  Fairbrother  made 
up  lovely,  exciting  tales  about  them  and  their  habits, 
and  for  some  little  time,  till  I  grew  older,  I  was 
under  the  impression  they  left  their  frames  at  night 
and  sported  on  the  tiles.  We  called  them  ISIr. 
Chamberlain  and  Mr.  Balfour." 

"  I  must  go,"  said  Dimbie.  "  The  cats  are  most 
interesting,  and  so  is  Miss  Fairbrother,  but  I  have 
our  living  to  make.  What  do  you  say  to  asking 
her  to  visit  us  for  a  bit  when  she  arrives.?" 

He  spoke  in  a  nonchalant  way,  and  I  looked  up 
quickly.  He  had  said  he  shouldn't  have  anyone  to 
stay  with  us  under  tv.elve  months.  His  back  was 
turned  to  me,  so  I  couldn't  see  his  face. 

"Do  you  want  her.?"  I  asked. 

"  /  want  her  ?  Certainly  not.  But  you  sound  so 
keen  on  her,  and  —  she  sounds  lonely." 

"Dear  Dimbie,"  I  said,  "you  are  a  pet.  I 
appreciate  your  unselfishness,  but " 

"Well,  write  and  ask  her  before  I  change  my 
mind.  I  dare  say  she'll  have  the  sense  to  clear  off 
and  leave  us  alone  in  the  evenings." 

"But  shall  you  care  dreadfully?"  I  queried. 

He  laughed. 

"Well,  not  dreadfully.  No  man  hankers  after 
62 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

a  strange  woman  in  the  house,  especially  when  he's 
already  got  a  dear  one  like  you.  But  I  want  you 
to  be  happy,  Marg."  His  voice  became  very  tender. 
"  I  don't  want  you  to  be  lonely.  I  want  your  days 
to  be  a  perpetual  delight."  He  crossed  the  room 
and  stroked  the  back  of  my  head. 

"And  so  they  are,"  I  replied,  laying  my  cheek 
on  his  sleeve.  "  One  long  delight.  Sometimes  I 
wonder  why  God  has  given  me  so  much  happiness. 
I  don't  deserve  it  any  more  than  anyone  else.  Peter, 
all  my  worries  are  behind  me;  in  front  of  me  is  joy. 
I  seem  to  have  stepped  on  to  a  little  green  island  of 
content,  set  in  the  midst  of  a  sun-kissed  ocean.  The 
waves  lap  the  shores  lovingly;  the  breezes  linger 
in  our  hair  with  a  caress.  You  and  I  are  alone, 
Dimbie." 

And  he  laid  his  lips  on  mine  for  a  moment,  and 
then  he  left  me. 


6S 


CHAPTER   VI 

SORROW    OVERTAKES   ME 

I  TAKE  up  my  writing  again,  or  rather  my  book 
is  propped  up  in  front  of  me,  and  I  wonder  how 
long  ago  was  that.  It  tires  my  head  to  think. 
My  dates  are  more  confused  than  ever.  I  know  it 
is  May,  but  what  part  of  May?  I  look  out  of  my 
window  —  the  bed  has  been  wheeled  into  the  window 
—  and  I  see  the  chestnut  is  crowned  with  its  white 
lights,  and  the  broom  bush  near  the  gate  is  a  mass 
of  golden  blossom.  It  is  the  end  of  May;  it  must 
be  nearly  June,  for  they  tell  me  the  season  is  late, 
that  there  has  been  much  cold  and  rain.  I  am 
almost  glad  to  have  missed  that.  I  like  my  May 
to  be  smiling  and  gladsome,  not  frowning  and 
petulant.  But  to-day  she  has  put  on  her  best  bib 
and  tucker,  and  with  the  conceit  of  a  frail  human 
being  I  weave  the  pleasant  fancy  that  it  is  done  in 
my  honour.  "They  are  giving  me  a  welcome, 
nurse,"  I  say.  "  The  apple  tree  is  rosy  pink  with 
pleasure  at  my  greeting  blown  to  it  through  the 
window." 

And  nurse,  putting  on  her  bonnet  and  cloak  to 
go  out,  tells  me  to  hush  and  not  talk  so  much. 

64 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

They  have  been  telling  me  to  hush  for  so  long 
it  seems;  but  now  I  am  tired  of  hushing,  tired  of 
being  good. 

I  told  Dr.  Renton  this  yesterday,  and  he  smiled 
and  said  it  showed  I  was  getting  better.  "Not 
getting,  got,"  I  returned.  "  When  may  I  get  up  ?  " 
And  he  said  he  would  come  and  tell  me  on  Wednes- 
day; and  this  is  Monday,  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, and  I  have  forty-eight  long  hours  to  get 
through  before  I  know. 

Nurse  is  just  a  trifle  cross  with  my  impatience. 
She  becomes  irritable  when  I  talk  about  getting  up. 
She  says  how  would  I  like  to  lie  for  some  months; 
and  I  reply  not  at  all  —  that  it  would  be  quite  im- 
possible for  Dimbie  to  get  along  without  my  being 
ever  at  his  elbow,  and  that  it  would  be  still  more 
impossible  for  me  to  remain  in  a  recumbent  position 
when  an  upright  one  is  possible. 

I  was  glad  of  this  "  lying  down  "  when  I  was  in 
pain.  Pain!  There  was  a  time  when  I  had  not 
knowTi  the  meaning  of  the  word.  It  had  passed  me 
by,  left  me  alone.  I  had  seen  it  on  a  few  people's 
faces;  then  I  thought  it  was  discontent,  now  I  know 
it  was  pain. 

How  do  people  bear  it  —  always  ?  keep  their 
reason  ?  Does  God  try  them  till  they  are  just  at 
breaking-point,  and  then  gently  remove  them?  or 
send  them  the  blessing  of  unconsciousness? 

They  say  I  lay  for  hours  away  in  a  world  of  my 
65 


Dimbie  and  1  —  and  Amelia 

own.  I  did  not  flinch  when  they  touched  me, 
moved  me,  laid  me  on  my  bed,  left  me  in  the  hands 
of  the  doctors. 

And  yet  I  would  have  stayed  if  I  could  —  kept 
my  brain  unclouded  to  help  Dimbie  when  he  picked 
me  up,  disentangled  me  (he  always  seems  to  be 
disentangling  me  from  something)  from  the  wrecked 
bicycle,  and  laid  me  away  from  that  terrible  wall.  I 
did  so  want  to  help  him.  His  white,  set  face  recalled 
me  a  moment  from  the  haze  of  unconsciousness 
which  was  settling  upon  me,  and  I  whispered, 
"Dimbie,  dear!"  but  I  never  heard  his  answer. 
The  mist  became  an  impenetrable  fog,  and  I  left 
him  alone  with  his  difficulties. 

I  don't  know  now  what  I  wanted  to  say. 

He  teazes  me  with  lips  that  won't  keep  steady, 
and  says  I  wished  to  know  if  my  hat  were  straight. 

"  Dear  goose,"  I  protest,  '"  it  was  something  to  do 
with  the  black  chicken  my  v/heel  caught  against  in 
my  headlong  flight  down  the  hill.  I  tried  to  dodge 
it  —  it  was  such  a  nice,  wee  black  chicken,  but  it 
dodged  too,  and  —  I  couldn't  help  it."  And  the 
tears  tremble  in  my  eyes  —  just  from  weakness.  *'  I 
think  I  wanted  you  to  go  back  up  the  hill  and  help 
it,  for  we  were  both  in  a  very  sorry  plight." 

And  Dimbie,  to  my  surprise,  turns  away  to  the 
window  and  says  we  shall  have  rain.  If  it  had 
rained  every  time  Dimbie  has  predicted  it  during 
my  illness  we  should  have  been  obliged  to  take 

66 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

refuge  in  an  ark  and  float  about  the  surface  of  the 
waters. 

I  am  very  cheerful  now.  I  am  getting  better. 
What  joy,  what  hope  those  words  contain  for  those 
who  have  been  sick  and  sorry.  I  wiped  away  the 
last  tear  this  morning  when  mother  went.  Peter's 
letters  had  become  so  tiresome  that  I  told  her  she 
had  better  go.  And  as  I  threw  a  kiss  to  the  back 
of  her  pretty  bonnet  as  she  disappeared  through  the 
gate  the  tear  was  for  her  and  not  for  myself. 

"  I  would  like  to  cut  Peter  for  life,  and  I  would 
but  for  your  sake,  poor  dear  little  mother,"  I  mur- 
mured savagely.  And  nurse,  who  entered  the  room 
at  that  moment,  said,  "You've  moved." 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  a  little  guiltily;  "but  as  the 
pain  has  almost  gone,  I  thought  it  could  not  do 
any  harm  just  to  sit  up  for  a  moment  and  watch 
mother  go." 

"  You've  sat  up  ?  "  she  cried  in  dismay. 

"Yes."  I  snuggled  my  head  down  on  the  pillow. 
"I  think  I'll  have  a  little  sleep  now,  nurse." 

"I  shall  tell  Dr.  Renton  and  Mr.  Westover." 
Her  voice  was  relentless. 

"If  you  do  I  shall  sit  up  again,  and  refuse  to 
take  my  beef -tea,"  I  asseverated.  "Besides,  it  is 
sneaky  to  tell  tales." 

Her  lips  twitched  as  she  poured  some  beef-tea 
into  my  feeder. 

"  If  you  sit  up  again  I  shall  give  up  the  case." 
67 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Her  voice  reminded  me  of  the  stone  wall  I  had 
smashed  against,  and  I  told  her  so;  but  she  was 
not  to  be  moved. 

"Will  you  give  me  your  faithful  promise  that 
you  will  not  sit  up  again  ?  I  am  responsible  to 
Dr.  Renton  and  Mr.  Rovell.  I  have  nursed  Mr. 
Rovell's  cases  for  years,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  lose 
his  work." 

She  stood  over  me  like  an  angel  with  a  flaming 
sword. 

"  I  promise,  nursey,  dear,"  I  said  meekly.  "  But 
you  won't  take  my  manuscript  book  from  me.'^  I 
can  write  quite  easily  lying  down.  You  see,  it  has 
stiff  covers." 

"You  can  keep  that,"  she  conceded.  "Are  you 
doing  French  exercises.''" 

"  No,"  I  said  gravely.  "  At  present  I  am  writing 
what  you  might  call  '  patience  exercises.'  When  I 
am  at  work  I  forget  how  long  it  is  before  Mr. 
Westover  will  be  home.  I  forget  my  back.  I 
forget  General  Macintosh  and  my  other  worries. 
I  am  so  absorbed  in  keeping  my  spelling  and  gram- 
mar in  order  that  I  have  no  time  for  other  matters. 
You  see,  if  I  were  to  di  —  go  before  my  husband, 
he  miffht  wish  to  see  these  exercises,  and  I  should 
not  like  him  to  smile  at  my  mistakes." 

"You  are  not  going  before  Mr.  Westover,"  she 
said  briskly.  "  All  my  patients  think  they  are  going 
to  die.     I  am  not  altogether  sorry,  as  they  are  so 

68 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Sony  for  themselves  that  it  keeps  them  absorbed 
and  out  of  mischief.  Were  they  not  taken  up  in 
picturing  their  husbands  flinging  themselves  on  to 
their  graves  in  a  frenzy  of  grief  they  might  be 
picking  their  bandages  off." 

I  giggled  and  choked  into  my  beef-tea. 

"I  hate  beef-tea,"  I  said  when  I  had  recovered. 
"Besides,  it  is  only  a  stimulant,  and  not  a  food." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"I  saw  it  in  mother's  medical  book."  I  spoke 
carelessly. 

"WTiere  is  it.'"     Her  voice  was  sharp. 

"Down  the  bed." 

She  dived  gently  but  firmly  under  the  clothes  and 
removed  the  book  which  I  had  had  such  trouble  in 
purloining  from  mother  by  bribing  Amelia. 

"  Is  there  anything  else  you  have  read  in  it  ?  " 

"No,"  I  said,  "I've  not  had  time.  I  was  just 
running  througl;i  the  index  when  my  eye  caught  the 
word  beef-tea." 

"  What  were  you  going  to  look  for  ?  " 

"Spines,"  I  returned  promptly.  "As  mine  has 
gone  a  bit  wrong  I  thought  I  would  like  a  little 
information  about  it." 

"And  I'm  just  glad  I  caught  you  in  time,"  she 
said  sternly.  "That  is  why  I  like  nursing  men  so 
much  better  than  women.  Men  are  too  scared 
about  themselves  to  go  poking  their  noses  into 
medical  books,   but  women  are  so  curious  about 

69 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

their  own  cases  that  there  is  no  holding  them  in. 
They  look  at  their  charts  —  I  have  seen  them  doing 
it  in  hospital  when  the  nurses'  backs  were  turned. 
They  take  their  own  temperatures,  feel  their  own 
pulses,  and  ask  a  thousand  questions  wliich  no  sen- 
sible nurse  would  dream  of  answering." 

"I  have  not  asked  silly  questions,"  I  argued. 

"No,  because  up  to  now  you  have  been  far  too 
poorly.     What  is  it  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  When  I  may  get  up,"  I  said  eagerly. 

"Well,  you  won't  find  that  in  a  medical  book. 
Did  you  expect  to  do  so  }  " 

"Oh,  no.  I  wanted  to  find  out  of  what  spines 
are  made;  the  diseases  to  which  they  are  subject," 
I  said  rather  lamely. 

"Yours  isn't  a  disease,  but  an  accident.  Dr. 
Renton  will  tell  you  fast  enough  when  you  may 
get  up."     She  put  the  book  into  a  drawer. 

"It  seems  so  long  to  Wednesday." 

"  He  is  not  coming  till  next  week." 

"Not  till  next  week,"  I  said  blankly,  "and  this 
is  only  Monday.  He  said  he  would  come  on 
Wednesday." 

"No,  he  didn't.     You  assumed  that  he  would." 

"Well,  I  call  it  most  neglectful." 

"There  is  nothing  to  come  for  now,"  she  said 
soothingly.  "It  is  a  good  way  from  Dorking  to 
Pine  Tree  Valley,  and  of  course,  as  he  said,  there 
is  no  good  in  running  up  a  long  bill." 

70 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"I  don't  believe  he  said  that,"  I  cried  heatedly. 

"Perhaps  he  didn't,"  she  admitted;  "but  you 
mustn't  excite  yourself.  I  am  going  to  lower  the 
blinds.    You  said  you  were  sleepy." 

"I  never  was  so  wide  awake  in  all  my  life,"  I 
almost  sobbed.  "  I  think  it  is  mean  of  Dr.  Renton. 
I  did  so  want  to  get  up  this  week  and  smell  the 
wallflowers  before  they  were  quite  over.  I  think 
they  were  late  in  flowering  for  my  sake.  I  put 
them  in  and  they  waited  for  me,  and  now  I  shall 
miss  them," 

"I  will  bring  some  in  for  you  to  smell." 

"Jt  won't  be  the  same,"  I  cried  petulantly.  "You 
don't  understand,  nurse.  To  enjoy  wallflowers  to 
the  full  the  sun  must  be  shining  upon  them,  and  you 
must  stand  a  little  away  from  the  bed,  and  the  west 
wind  must  come  along  gently,  bearing  in  its  arms 
the  scent  —  just  a  breath  of  warm  fragrance,  and  — 
well,  that  is  the  way  to  enjoy  wallflowers,  and  — 
oh,  nurse,  I  do  so  want  to  bury  my  face  in  them." 
I  tailed  off  to  a  wail. 

She  walked  to  the  window  and  lowered  the  blind. 

"  If  you  carry  on  in  this  way  you  will  never  smell 
wallflowers  again."  She  was  cross.  "I  shall  leave 
you  now,  and  perhaps  you'll  be  calmer  when  I  come 
back." 

"  Oh,  nurse,"  I  said  penitently,  "  don't  go.  I  will 
be^good.  And  I  want  you  to  read  me  Peggy  and 
Other  Tales.     You  read  it  so  beautifully." 

71 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Peggy  is  a  dear  black  book  which  belonged  to 
mother  when  she  was  a  Uttle  girl.  It  was  my  especial 
favourite  when  I  was  seven,  and  it  has  been  quite  the 
most  suitable  form  of  literature  for  a  weak,  fractious 
invalid  with  a  hazy  brain  and  wobbly  emotions. 

Nurse  laughed  as  she  picked  up  the  book. 

"  Are  you  not  tired  of  it  .^ " 

"No,"  I  replied.  "Peggy  comforts  me  very 
much.  And  when  you  have  finished  her,  you  might 
read  me  something  out  of  Ecclesiastes.  It  is  not  that 
I  am  feeling  religious  or  think  I  am  going  to  die, 
but  the  language  is  so  musical  and  grand:  'Or  ever 
the  silver  cord  be  loosed,  or  the  golden  bowl  be  broken, 
or  the  pitcher  be  broken  at  the  fountain,  or  the  wheel 
broken  at  the  cistern  J  It  is  the  repetition  of  the  word 
'  broken '  I  like.  Now  had  I  been  writing  the  verse 
I  should  have  searched  about  for  another  verb  — 
smashed,  cracked  —  and  straightway  the  beauty  of 
the  lines  would  have  been  spoiled.  But  Solomon 
was  so  sure  of  himself.  He  knew  the  word  'broken' 
was  just  the  right  word  even  if  used  three  times 
and  so  he  used  it." 

Nurse  sat  and  looked  at  me  with  surprise  chasing 
across  her  face. 

"Dear  me,"  she  said,  "I  never  notice  things  like 
that  when  I  am  reading." 

"What  do  you  notice.^"  I  inquired. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  I  notice  anything.  I  just 
want  to  hurry  on  to  where  the  man  proposes." 

72 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"But  men  don't  often  propose  in  the  Bible,  with 
the  exception  of  Jacob,"  I  said  laughing. 

"I  didn't  refer  to  the  Bible.  I  was  thinking  of 
books  generally." 

"  You  mean  you  never  notice  how  a  book  is  written. 
You  just  want  to  get  on  with  the  plot." 

"That's  it,"  she  agreed.  "I  hate  descriptions. 
They  tire  me  to  death,  especially  as  to  how  the 
characters  feel  inside  about  things.  Heroines  are 
the  worst  of  all.  They  commune  with  themselves 
for  hours  over  the  merest  trifles." 

"Do  you  mean  as  to  whether  they  will  get  a  new 
dress,  or  engage  a  man  to  put  a  new  washer  on  the 
bathroom  tap  which  drips  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said,  a  little  impatiently,  "I  can't 
explain;  it  is  not  over  things  like  that  they  worry 
themselves.  But  you  look  tired.  You  are  talking 
too  much.     I  will  read  you  to  sleep." 

She  spoke  with  finality,  and  picked  up  the  book. 

As  she  read  aloud  in  a  somewhat  sonorous  voice 
I  lay  and  watched  the  tree-tops.  "Next  week,"  I 
thought,  "I  shall  be  out  of  doors  once  more.  I 
shall  visit  the  frog-pond  with  Dimbie.  I  shall 
wander  through  the  fields  with  him.  Plis  arm  will 
clasp  mine,  as  I  shall  be  weak,  and  we  shall  sit  and 
rest  under  a  white  hawthorn  hedge.  The  scent  will 
be  heavy  on  the  still  evening  air.     The  fields  of 

clover  and  wheat  will "     And  at  this  point  I  left 

Peggy  and  nurse,  and  fell  asleep. 

73 


CHAPTER  VII 

DR.  RENTON  BREAKS  SOME  NEWS  TO  ME 

THE  week  has  passed  at  last  —  in  the  daytime 
on  leaden  feet,  on  wings  of  gold  in  the  evening 
when,  as  the  clock  has  struck  sLx,  Dimbie  and  hap- 
piness have  entered  my  room  hand  in  hand. 

"Only  four  more  days,  dear  one,"  Dimbie  has 
said  hopefully. 

"Only  three  more  days.  Nurse  must  begin  to 
air  your  tea-gown." 

"Only  two  more.  I  am  putting  bamboo  poles 
through  the  small  wicker  chair.  You  may  not  be 
able  to  walk  at  first,  and  nurse  and  I  will  carry 
you.  I  could  manage  you  alone,  you  are  only  a 
feather  in  weight,  but  I  might  hurt  you  —  such  a 
frail  Marguerite  my  little  wife  looks." 

"Is  it  the  drain-bamboo  you  are  using?"  I  ask 
demurely.  "  For  Amelia  might  object."  And  Dim- 
bie laughs  like  a  happy  boy. 

"  Only  one  more  day.  To-morrow  you  will  meet 
me  at  the  door.  Nurse  will  help  you  there,  and  then 
she  will  go  away,  and  —  we  shall  be  alone."  His 
Toice  vibrates  with  happiness  and  my  cheeks  glow. 

74 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Have  you  missed  me,  Dimbie?"  I  whisper. 
"Have  you  enjoyed  pouring  out  your  own  tea  and 
finding  your  slippers  and  working  in  the  garden 
alone?" 

And  he  smiles  tenderly  and  says  he  hasn't  missed 
me  one  little  bit,  and  can't  I  see  it  in  his  face  ? 
And  nurse  who  comes  into  the  room  says  "Ahem!" 
Her  throat  often  seems  a  little  troublesome. 

And  now  to-morrow  has  come.  Dr.  Renton  may 
walk  in  at  any  minute,  and  I  press  my  finger  to  my 
wrist  to  try  to  hush  the  beating. 

Nurse  has  put  me  into  my  best  blue  silk  jacket, 
and  my  hair  has  been  done  —  well,  not  in  the  very 
latest  Parisian  mode,  but  its  two  plaits  are  tied  with 
new  blue  ribbons.  She  has  propped  me  up  so  that  I 
may  see  the  lane  and  know  the  exact  moment  in 
which  Dr.  Renton  may  drive  down  it. 

I  persuaded  her  to  go  for  her  walk  as  soon  as 
lunch  was  over.  I  told  her  Dr.  Renton  never  came, 
as  she  herself  knew,  much  before  half-past  three, 
and  that  I  felt  unusually  well. 

And  as  soon  as  ever  I  heard  the  click  of  the  gate 
and  knew  she  had  gone  I  rang  the  tortoise  —  the 
bell  which  always  lives  on  the  other  pillow  —  for 
Amelia. 

She  appeared,  very  dirty. 

"Why,  you're  not  dressed,"  I  said. 

"  Did  you  ring  to  tell  me  that,  mum  ?  Because  I 
knewed  it." 

75 


Dimbie  and  1  —  and  Amelia 

Her  attitude  was  not  tliat  of  impertiaence,  but 
of  inquiry. 

"Oh,  no,"  I  replied  quickly.  "I  want  you  to 
bring  me  up  one  of  the  volumes  of  the  encyclopsedia. 
I  don't  know  the  number,  but  it  will  have  SPI  on 
the  back." 

I  spoke  nervously,  for  I  felt  guilty.  I  was  about 
to  embark  upon  an  act  of  deception.  Would 
Amelia  detect  me  ?  But,  for  a  wonder,  she  left  the 
room  without  a  comment. 

In  a  minute  she  was  back. 

"There  is  no  volume  with  SPI  on  it,"  she  an- 
nounced. "There  is  one  with  SIB  and  SZO  on 
it,  mum." 

"That  will  do,"  I  said  eagerly.  "It  will  be  in 
that." 

She  brought  it  with  a  running  accompaniment  of 
squeaks  and  gasps. 

"Three  at  a  time,  mum." 

"  Three  at  a  time !    What  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"Stairs,  mum." 

"Well,  then,"  I  said,  "it  is  very  foolish  of  you, 
Amelia.  Your  breathing  resembles  a  gramophone 
when  you  wind  it  up.  I  shan't  require  anything 
further,  thank  you;  but  please  get  dressed.  I  should 
like  you  to  be  neat  when  Dr.  Renton  arrives,  and  he 
will  probably  have  tea  with  me.  I  don't  know 
how  it  is  you  are  so  late." 

"I  do,  "mum." 

76 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Why?" 

My  question  was  answered  by  another. 

"  Have  you  any  idea  what  I  do  after  lunch,  mum  ? 
Do  you  think  I  am  skipping  or  playing  marbles  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  I  said  hastily,  "I  am  sure  you  are 
not,  Amelia." 

"Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  do,  so  as  you 
won't  be  wonderin'  why  I'm  not  dressed  by  half- 
past  two."  She  spoke  volubly.  "I  washes  up  the 
lunch  things  —  nurse's  now  as  well ;  she's  too  grand 
to  so  much  as  put  a  kettle  on.  Then  I  sweeps  up 
the  kitchen,  sides  up  the  hearth,  brushes  the  kettle, 
cleans  the  handle " 

"  What  do  you  do  that  for  ?  "  I  asked  with  interest. 

"For  fun,  of  course." 

"  Amelia  !  "  I  said  rebukingly. 

"Beggin'  your  pardon,  mum,  but  it  seemed  such 
a  foolish  question  —  meanin'  no  offence  to  you.  I 
cleans  the  handle,  which  is  copper  here  —  it  was 
brass  at  Tompkinses'  —  to  get  the  dirt  and  smoke 
off.  You  never  got  your  hands  black  in  lifting  my 
kettle,  did  you  now.^" 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  ever  lifted  it,"  I  rejoined,  v 

"Oh,  well,"  she  said  in  a  superior  way,  "of 
course  you  can't  know;  but  people  who  knows 
any  tiling  at  all  about  a  house  knows  that  generals' 
kettles  are  mostly  black.  Then  I  scrubs  the  table, 
dusts  the  kitchen,  feeds  the  canary,  and  waters  the 
geranium,    which    is    looking    that    sickly-like    I'm 

77 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

ashamed  of  the  tradespeople  seeing  it.  The  butcher 
only  says  to  me  yesterday,  'I  see  you  are  a  bit  of  a 
horticulturist,  miss.'" 

She  stopped,  breathless. 

"You  certainly  are  very  busy,"  I  said. 

"Busy  isn't  the  word.  I'm  Hke  a  fire-escape 
from  morning  till  night." 

I  tliink  she  meant  fire-engine,  and  I  was  not  sorry 
when  she  departed,  for  I  was  anxious  to  get  to  my 
encyclopaedia. 

I  turned  the  pages  rapidly  —  Sphygmograph, 
Spice  Islands,  Spider,  Spikenard,  Spinach,  Spinal 
Cord.  "x\h,  here  we  are!"  I  said  dehghtedly.  In 
a  moment  my  spirits  drooped.  "See  Physiology, 
vol.  xix.  p.  o4.  For  diseases  affecting  the  Spinal 
Cord,  see  Ataxy  (Locomotor),  Paralysis,  Pathology, 
and  Surgery." 

I  gave  a  deep  sigh.  I  always  have  disliked  the 
Encyclopcsdia  Britannica.  From  the  moment  Dim- 
bie introduced  it  to  our  happy  home  I  have  had  a 
feeling  of  unrest.  It  appears  to  think  you  have 
nothing  to  do  with  your  time  beyond  playing  "  hunt 
the  slipper"  with  it.  You  wish  to  look  up  a  subject 
like  dog.  With  a  certain  amount  of  faith  and  hope 
you  approach  your  encyclopaedia.  Dog  refers  you 
to  Canine.  You  check  your  impatience.  Canine 
refers  you  to  Faithfulness.  A  bad  word,  if  you  were 
a  man,  would  then  be  used;  but  you  are  not  a  man, 
so  you  only  stamp  your  foot.     Faithfulness  refers 

78 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

you  to  Gelert,  and  you  hurt  yourself  rather  badly  as 
you  replace  the  volume.  You  give  up  dog.  You 
would  prefer  your  pet  dying  before  your  very  eyes 
to  searching  any  more  heavy  volumes. 

When  Dimbie  first  saw  the  Encyclopwdm  Britan- 
nica  advertised  in  the  Daily  Mail  he  became  very 
enthusiastic,  and  after  talking  about  it  for  some 
time  commented  upon  my  lack  of  interest  in  the 
subject. 

"  Why,  Marg,  they  are  giving  it  away ! "  he  cried. 

"Oh,"  I  said,  rousing  myself,  "that  is  quite  a 
different  thing.  I  like  people  who  give  books  away. 
When  will  they  arrive .'' " 

"When  I  said,  'Giving  it  away,'"  Dimbie  ex- 
plained, hedging,  "I  meant  that  the  payments 
would  be  by  such  easy  instalments  that  we  couldn't 
possibly  miss  them.  And  a  fumed  oak  bookcase 
will  be  thrown  in  free." 

I  became  interested  in  the  bookcase,  and  when 
it  arrived  I  wasn't,  for  it  was  black  and  varnishy 
and  sticky,  and  very  far  removed  from  fumed  oak 
as  I  knew  it.  I  gave  it  to  Amelia  for  her  pans, 
and  we  ordered  another  from  the  joiner,  who 
charged  us  £4  for  it,  money  down,  as  we  were 
strangers. 

We  don't  find  the  payment  of  the  instalment  each 
month  in  the  least  easy.  In  fact,  we  almost  go 
without  fire  and  food  to  meet  it. 

I  rang  the  tortoise  sharply.  The  encyclopaedia 
79 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

should  be  made  to  divulge  that  which  I  wished  to 
know.     I  would  not  be  hoodwinked. 

"Please  bring  me  volumes  PHY,  LOG,  PAH, 
PAT,  and  SUR,"  I  said  to  Amelia,  who  was  buttoning 
her  black  bodice  all  wrong.    "  And  where's  your  cap  ?  " 

"In  my  pocket,  mum."  She  produced  it,  fasten- 
ing it  on  wrong  end  foremost  with  two  hair-pins 
which  once  might  have  been  black. 

"It  is  an  unsuitable  place  to  keep  it,"  I  pro- 
nounced.    "  And  where  are  your  cufFs  ?  " 

Amelia  smiled. 

"They've  melted,  mum.  I  forgot  they  was  india- 
rubber,  and  I  put  them  into  the  oven  after  washing 
them,  and  when  I  went  for  them  they  was  just 
drippin'." 

I  sighed  deeply. 

"  Well,  bring  me  the  volumes.  Do  you  remember 
which  I  mentioned  ?  " 

"No,  mum." 

"I  will  write  them  down  for  you." 

"  Why  not  have  the  whole  forty,  mum  ?  "  she  said, 
as  she  took  the  slip  of  paper. 

"Those  five  will  be  sufficient,  thank  you,"  I  said 
coldly. 

Her  panting  was  naturally  excessive  as  she  laid 
the  volumes  on  the  bed. 

"They  are  rather  heavy  for  me  to  hft,  Amelia," 
I  said.  "Please  open  PHY  for  me  and  turn  over 
the  leaves  till  you  come  to  Physiology,  and  then  go 

80 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

and  see  about  some  tea.  I  don't  feel  I  can  wait  till 
four  o'clock  to-day." 

"Would  you  like  some  drippin'  toast,  mum.'^ 
I've  got  some  lovely  beef  drippin'  from  the  last 
sirloin  which  master  carved  all  wrong.  He  cut  it 
just  like  ribs  —  I  mean  the  under-cut  —  instead  of 
across.  He'd  have  catched  it  if  he'd  been  Mrs. 
Tompkins'  husband." 

"But  he  isn't,  you  see."  My  manner  was  extin- 
guishing. 

"You're  a  bit  cross,  mum.''"  she  suggested. 

"  No,  Amelia,  I'm  not,  only  tired  —  tired  of 
waiting  for  Dr.  Renton  —  tired,  sick  to  death  of 
lying  here.  Do  you  know  how  long  I  have  lain 
here  ?  " 

"Seven  weeks  come  Wednesday,"  she  replied 
promptly. 

"No,  Amelia.  You  have  miscalculated.  You 
have  minimised  the  period  of  time.  I  have  lain 
here,"  and  I  stretched  my  arms  wide,  "a  thousand 
days  and  nights,  a  million  days  and  nights;  and  each 
day  and  night  has  stretched  away  to  eternity." 

"  Lawks,  mum ! "     Her  corsets  cracked. 

"Lawks!  doesn't  express  it,  Amelia.  Go  now 
and  put  on  the  kettle  with  the  clean  copper  handle. 
No  dripping  toast,  thank  you.  I  am  sure  nurse 
would  disapprove.  She  has  a  tiresome  habit  of 
disapproving  of  most  things.  Besides,  I  don't  feel 
like  common  fare.     I  want  something  to  take  me 

81 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

out  of  myself  and  to  uplift  me.  Something  delicate, 
subtle,  ambrosial.  Do  you  know  what  ambrosial 
means  ?  No  ?  Ambrosia  means  food  for  the  gods. 
I  want  food  for  the  gods  —  iced  rose  leaves,  a 
decoction  of  potpourri  to  assuage  my  thirst.  Go, 
Amelia,  and  make  speed  to  do  my  bidding." 

And  Amelia,  with  bulging  eyes,  has  gone.  I  could 
hear  her  muttering  to  the  landing  furniture,  '"  Just 
a  bit  dotty  in  the  head  like  Ned  Wemp,  the  village 
softy.  Poor  thing,  no  wonder  she's  queer  at  times. 
She  did  bump  her  head." 

And  I  am  laughing  weakly.  I  feel,  after  all, 
unequal  to  tackling  the  encyclopasdia.  I  feel  faint 
with  waiting  and  watching  for  Dr.  Renton.  It  is 
half-past  three.  I  heard  nurse  come  in  a  few 
minutes  ago.  I  hear  Amelia  rattling  the  tea-cups. 
But  the  sound  doesn't  cheer  me.  Somehow,  why  I 
cannot  say,  fear  has  gripped  me  at  the  heart.  And 
I  cannot  laugh  it  away.  Why  is  Dr.  Renton  so 
long  in  coming? 

"  'He  Cometh  not,'  she  said; 

She  said,  '  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 
I  would  that  I  were  dead! '  " 

***** 

Dr.  Renton  has  been  here.     And  I  have  sent  nurse 

away  so  that  I  may  fight  it  out  alone  before  Dimbie 

comes   home.     I   broke   down    a   little   before   Dr. 

Renton,  but  I  mustn't  cry  before  Dimbie.     I  must 

82 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

always  try  to  remember  that.  He  has  quite  enough 
worries  of  his  own.  I  must  never  cry  before 
Dimbie. 

Dr.  Ren  ton's  words  keep  slowly  repeating  them- 
selves in  my  brain:  "To  lie  for  twelve  months  is 
hard,  but  —  supposing  it  had  been  life-long  cripple- 
dom,  that  would  be  harder." 

"Supposing  it  had  been  life-long  crippledom!" 

I  must  go  on  saying  it  over  and  over  again  till 
I  feel  patient,  till  I  feel  grateful  for  only  being  asked 
to  bear  the  lighter  burden.  But,  oh,  how  long  it 
seems!  How  very  long!  To  think  that  I  must  lie 
quite  still.  And  tliis  was  to  have  been  my  first  year  of 
happiness,  the  first  year  in  which  I  was  free  to  roam 
at  my  will,  free  to  stretch  my  wings  away  from 
Peter's  cramping  influence. 

It  seems  a  little  hard. 

"  But  supposing  it  had  been  life-long  crippledom ! " 
I  must  learn  to  be  patient. 

I  think  I  might  have  helped  Dr.  Renton,  made  it 
less  difficult  for  him  to  tell.  But  I  was  selfish. 
Instinctively  I  knew  what  was  coming  —  his  rugged 
face  was  more  rugged  than  usual  —  and  yet  I 
clasped  my  hands  and  cried,  "How  long  you  have 
been.  When  may  I  get  up  ?  Oh,  say  to-day.  I 
do  so  want  to  go  to  the  door  to  meet  Dimbie.  I  ache 
to  go  and  meet  him.  I  hear  the  latch  of  the  garden 
gate,  his  footstep  on  the  gravel;  then  my  spirit  like 

83 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

a  bird  flies  to  meet  his,  and  —  Amelia  meets  him. 
Speak,  Dr.  Renton.  Say  it  quickly.  Say  I  may 
get  up." 

And  all  the  answer  he  made  was  to  pick  up  one 
of  the  volumes  of  the  encyclopaedia  and  walk  to  the 
window. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  that  silence 
told  me  all. 

"But  my  pulse  is  steady,  doctor,  dear,"  I  cried 
with  a  sob  in  my  voice.  "  My  temperature  is  normal. 
My  eyes  are  clear.  My  colour  is  good.  I  am  quite 
well  again." 

"I  wish  to  God  you  were!"  he  said  almost  sav- 
agely. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  me?"  I  spoke  more 
quietly.  His  evident  emotion  frightened  me  into  a 
momentary  calmness.  I  might  as  well  know  the 
worst  or  best  and  get  it  over.  My  heart  beat  thickly, 
and  I  closed  my  eyes.  I  had  known  Dr.  Renton 
long  enough  to  feel  sure  that  whatever  he  told  me 
would  be  the  truth.  And  the  truth  was  that  I  was 
to  be  on  my  back  for  a  whole  year;  to  be  lifted  from 
my  bed  to  a  couch,  and  from  the  couch  back  again 
to  bed;  that  I  might  be  wheeled  from  one  room  to 
another  on  the  ground  floor,  but  must  never  walk. 

Never  walk !  As  one  in  a  dream  I  heard  his  words. 
Dully  and  with  unseeing  eyes  I  stared  through  the 
window.  By  and  by  I  should  get  used  to  the  idea, 
used  to  being  still.     What  would  Dimbie  say? 

84 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

I  turned  to  the  doctor  quickly. 

"Does  my  husband  know?" 

"No/'herephed. 

"  Why  haven't  you  told  him  ?  " 

"I  wanted  to  make  sure." 

"  And  you  are  sure  now  ?  There  is  no  other  way 
—  treatment,  massage .'' "     I  spoke  breathlessly. 

"There  is  no  other  way.  But  a  year  will  pass 
quickly.     You  must  be  brave." 

"But  I  didn't  want  it  to  pass  quickly,"  I  cried 
bitterly.  "Don't  you  understand  this  was  to  have 
been  my  year  —  my  wonderful  year  "^  " 

"There  will  be  other  years,"  he  began  gently. 
"You  are  young,  Marguerite.  All  your  life  is  be- 
fore you.     There  will  be  next  year " 

"  But  next  year  will  not  be  the  same  as  tliis.  Go, 
Doctor  Renton;  leave  me.  I  am  going  to  cry, 
and  you  will  be  angry.  You  hate  tears.  But  I 
must  cry  before  Dimbie  comes  home,  and  the 
time  is  passing.  Unless  I  cry  I  —  I  shall  break  in 
two." 

The  tears  were  raining  down  my  face  as  I  spoke, 
and  Dr.  Renton  swore  lustily,  as  he  has  always  done 
when  upset. 

"Good-bye,"  I  said,  smiling  through  my  tears. 
"Your  language  will  deprave  Jumbles." 

He  held  my  hand  between  his. 

"You  know  I  am  sorry.  I  am  a  poor  hand  at 
expressing  what  I  feel." 

85 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"I  know,"  I  replied.  "No  girl  ever  had  a  kinder 
doctor." 

"I  shook  you  when  you  were  a  little  girl  with 
measles  for  running  barefoot  about  the  passages." 
He  was  patting  my  hand. 

"  Do  you  mean  you  want  to  shake  me  now  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Yes,  if  you  cry  any  more,"  he  said  a  little  grimly, 
but  the  expression  in  his  eyes  was  very  kind. 

"I'll  try  not  to,"  I  whispered  tremulously. 

"That's  a  brave  girl,"  he  said.  "Good-bye, 
keep  up  your  heart,  and  we'll  get  you  well."  And  I 
lay  and  cried  for  half  an  hour. 


86 


CHAPTER  VIII 


DIMBIE  COMFORTS  ME 


D 


IMBIE  went  very  white  when  I  told  him.  He 
walked  to  the  window  and  stared  for  some 
time  at  the  gathering  darlcness.  I  had  chosen  this 
hour,  knowing  my  face  would  be  in  shadow.  It 
is  so  much  easier  to  control  one's  voice  than  one's 
features.  Jumbles  rubbed  his  face  against  my 
shoulder.  I  could  hear  Aaaelia  singing,  "  Her  golden 
hair  is  hanging  down  her  back."  She  sounded 
cheerful  and  happy.  Nurse  had  gone  to  the  village 
to  post  a  letter.  She  would  be  back  soon  to  "  settle  " 
me  for  the  night.  Why  didn't  Dimbie  speak  —  say 
something.^  I  wanted  to  be  comforted  as  only 
Dimbie  could  comfort  me. 

A  little  sigh  broke  from  me,  and  in  a  second  his 
arms  were  round  me  and  I  was  held  very  closely. 

"My  poor  little  girl,"  he  murmured.  "I  am 
sorry  for  her." 

"Oh,  Dimbie,"  I  whispered,  clinging  to  him, 
"can  you  bear  with  me  if  I  have  a  little  grumble.'' 
I  meant  to  be  so  brave  to  you,  to  put  on  such  a 
bright  face,  not  to  let  you  hear  one  word  of  repin- 

87 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

ing;  but  I  want  to  let  it  all  out,  oh,  so  badly.  You 
only  can  understand  how  I  feel,  because  you  know 
and  love  me  best.  And  after  to-night  I  will  try 
never  to  speak  of  it  again." 

For  answer  he  pillowed  my  head  on  his  shoulder 
and  kissed  my  eyes  and  hair  and  lips. 

"You  see,"  I  said,  looking  across  the  garden, 
which  was  shadowy  and  mysterious,  to  the  frog- 
pond  field,  "  I  don't  think  I  should  have  felt  it  quite 
so  much  if  it  had  been  next  year.  We  should  have 
been  an  old  married  couple  by  then,  and  have  got 
used  to  everything  —  to  all  the  v/onderfulness  of 
being  together  alone,  I  mean  without  mother  and 
Peter." 

"  I  shall  never  get  used  to  that,"  said  Dimbie  with 
emphasis. 

"Yes,  you  will,"  and  I  assumed  an  old  married 
woman's  air.  "It  seems  incredible  now,  when  we 
have  been  husband  and  wife  for  only  five  months. 
How  do  you  feel  when  you  say,  '  My  wife '  ?  " 

"Thrill  all  over." 

"  So  do  I,"  I  laughed,  "  when  I  say, '  My  husband.* 
I  feel  quite  shy,  and  imagine  people  must  be  laugh- 
ing at  me.  But  —  have  you  ever  seen  Peter  getting 
excited  over  those  two  words,  '  My  wife ' }  " 

"  Never,"  said  Dimbie.  "  But,"  indignantly,  "  you 
are  not  surely  going  to  compare  me  with  Peter  ?  " 

"I  am  not  going  to  compare  you  with  any- 
one.    But  just  think  of  all  the  couples  you  know 

88 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

who  have  been  married,  say  —  longer  than  two 
years." 

"Shan't." 

I  laughed  and  kissed  his  ear.  Then  I  became 
grave. 

"  Now  listen  to  my  words  of  wisdom.  I  am  going 
to  speak  for  some  time,  tell  you  all  my  thoughts,  and 
you  mustn't  mterrupt.  You  and  I  love  each  other 
very  much,  and  we  are  always  going  to  love  each 
other  very  much  —  at  least  we  hope  so.  But  this 
would  have  been  our  one  wonderful  year.  This 
would  have  been  the  year  when  we  should  have 
walked  upon  the  heights  very  close  to  the  sun  and 
stars.  This  would  have  been  our  year  of  enchant- 
ment, when  the  weeds  on  the  wayside  would  have 
blossomed  as  the  rose,  and  the  twitter  of  every 
common  sparrow  would  have  been  to  us  as  the 
liquid  note  of  the  nightingale.  This  would  have 
been  the  year  when  Vv^e  should  have  wandered  down 
dewy  lanes,  and,  looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  would 
have  found  a  something  there  which  would  have 
caused  our  hearts  to  swell  and  our  pulses  to  beat. 

"  On  June  evenings  we  should  have  gathered  little 
wild  roses  and  plunged  our  faces  into  fragrant 
meadow-sweet,  and  laughed  at  the  croaking  of  the 
frogs  in  the  pond  and  had  supper  in  the  garden 
under  the  apple  tree,  loth  to  leave  the  sweetness  of 
a  summer  night.  In  July  we  should  have  sat  in  the 
hay  or  gathered  moon  daisies;  and  I,  forgetting  I 

89 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

was  Marguerite  married,  would  have  whispered, '  He 
loves  me,  he  loves  me  not;'  and  you,  flinging  down 
your  hat  on  to  the  grass,  would  have  knelt  in  front 
of  me  and  behaved  in  a  manner  most  foolish  and  yet 
most  delightful.  In  August  we  should  have  had  our 
first  holiday  together.  What  scanning  of  maps  and 
reading  of  guide-books!  Cromer,  we  would  settle 
—  poppy  land.  We  would  laze  on  the  heather  at 
Pretty  Comer  and  look  at  the  blue  sea.  Too  many 
people  we  would  remember,  and  fix  on  the  Austrian 
Tyrol.  Baedekers  would  be  bought,  trains  looked 
up,  only  to  find  that  when  we  had  paid  Amelia's 
wages  and  the  poor  rate  our  bank  balance  was  very 
small.  And  finally  we  should  have  found'our  way 
to  some  old-world  Cornish  fishing  village,  where  we 
should  have  bathed  and  walked,  and  fished  from  an 
old  boat.  In  September  we  should  have  cycled 
along  beautiful  autumn-scented  lanes,  dismounting 
at  Oxshott,  and  wading  ankle-deep  through  the  pine 
woods,  would  have  silently  thanked  God  for  the 
flaming  beauty  of  the  birches  silhouetted  against  the 
quiet  sky.  In  November  we  should  have  tidied  up 
our  garden  and  planted  our  bulbs  for  the  spring  — 
crocuses  and  daffodils,  especially  daffodils,  for  do 
we  not  love  them  best  of  all  the  spring  flowers  ? 
And  then  Xmas  would  have  come,  with  its  merry- 
making and  festivities,  and  our  beautiful  year  would 
have  ended  on  a  night  when  with  clasped  hands  and 
full  hearts  we  should  have  listened  to  the  tolling  of 

90 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

the  bell  for  its  passing  —  the  dear,  kind  old  year 
which  had  brought  us  such  joy,  such  complete 
contentment." 

I  finished  with  a  break  in  my  voice,  and,  forgetting 
all  my  brave  resolutions,  two  big  tears  dropped  on 
to  Dimbie's  hand  which  held  my  own. 

"Poor  little  sweetheart!  My  own  dear  wife,"  he 
said,  "  I  am  sorry  for  you,  so  sorry  I  cannot  express 
it.  But  why  shouldn't  such  a  year  as  you  picture  be 
ours  when  you  are  strong  and  well  once  more? 
This  first  year  of  our  marriage  shall  be  an  indoor 
year.  You  shall  be  Marguerite-sit-by-the-fire,  knit- 
ting and  making  fine  embroidery,  and  later  on  you 
shall  be  my  Marguerite  of  the  fresh  air,  of  the  sun  and 
the  wind,  and  we  will  still  have  our  wonderful  year." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  It  could  never  be  the  same,"  I  replied.  "  I  may 
sound  sentimental,  Dimbie,  but  I  am  a  woman  and 
know.  Men  are  very  ignorant  about  love,  only 
women  know.  Men  imagine  that  romance  will  last 
beyond  the  first  year  as  well  as  love,  but  women 
know  better.  Besides,  men  don't  care  about  its 
lasting,  it  tires  them,  bores  them;  but  women  care, 
oh,  so  much.  They  can't  help  it,  they  are  bom 
that  way.  Men  are  tremendously  keen  on  gaining 
the  object  of  their  affection,  and  when  they  have  got 
it  they  regard  it  calmly,  affectionately,  unemotionally. 
It  is  a  possession ;  they  are  glad  for  it  to  be  there, 
and  almost  annoyed  when  it  is  absent  —  not  exactly 

91 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

because  they  miss  the  possession's  companionship, 
but  it  has  no  right  to  be  anywhere  but  at  its  own 
fireside.  Men  go  to  golf,  tennis,  race  meetings, 
fishing  on  their  Saturdays,  Sundays  and  hoHdays. 
They  are  quite  surprised  at  the  possession  being  a 
little  sorry  and  hurt  at  first  at  their  not  wanting  to 
go  about  with  her  as  they  did  in  that  first  wonderful 
year.  The  possession  is  unreasonable,  exacting;  she 
wants  to  tie  her  husband  to  her  apron  strings.  She 
has  no  right  to  be  lonely  —  there  are  the  children, 
and  if  there  are  no  children  she  must  make  interests 
of  her  own ;  or  —  she  might  even  take  to  golf  so 
long  as  she  isn't  extravagant  and  ambitious,  and 
expect  to  play  with  Haskells  or  her  own  husband. 
"All  these  are  platitudes,  you  will  say;  but  there 
never  were  truer  platitudes.  Ah,  if  husbands  would 
only  realise  and  accept  the  fact  that  woman  is  the 
other  half  of  man,  but  diverse,  how  much  happiness 
there  would  be.  Diverse!  He  loved  her  for  her 
feminine  attributes  before  marriage  —  for  her  weak- 
nesses if  you  like  to  call  them  such.  Wliy  doesn't 
he  after  ?  A  true,  good  woman  doesn't  want  a  great 
deal.  A  gentle  word,  a  caress,  a  look  of  love  and 
understanding  from  the  man  she  loves  are  far  more 
to  her  than  coronets.  A  woman  likes  to  he  wanted, 
and  I  don't  think  it  is  vanity.  Watch  her  smile 
if  her  husband  marks  her  out  of  a  large  crowd  for  a 
little  attention.  The  other  women  there  may  be 
young  and  beautiful;  she  is  little  and  old  and  faded, 

92 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

and  wears  a  shabby  gown  —  but  her  husband  wants 
her.  Women  are  never  happier  than  when  they  are 
wanted.  And  how  quick  they  are,  how  instantly 
they  divine  when  an  act  of  courtesy  is  perforaied  for 
them  from  duty  only  and  not  from  affection.  I 
once  heard  a  man  curse  when  his  wife  asked  him  to 
hold  her  umbrella  on  a  wet  night  when  she  was 
struggling  with  the  train  of  her  gown  and  her  sUppers. 
They  were  dining  out,  and  couldn't  afford  cabs. 
She  was  frail,  and  he  was  big  and  strong.  She  just 
caught  at  her  breath.  Through  the  years  she  had 
learnt  wisdom,  a  greater  wisdom  than  Solomon  could 
ever  teach.  She  realised  that  this  man  would  stand 
by  her  in  a  tight  place,  and  with  that  she  must  be 
content.  It  was  unreasonable  of  her  to  hanker  after 
the  little  words  of  love  and  kindness  which  make  life 
so  sweet.  He  was  faithful  to  her,  he  didn't  drink  or 
gamble  or  go  to  clubs.  He  gave  her  £•25  a  year  for 
her  clothes,  and  he  'kept'  her.  What  more  could 
she  possibly  want.?  And  if  he  swore  at  her,  and 
told  her  she  looked  old,  and  why  couldn't  she  dress 
like  other  women,  it  was  only  his  little  way,  and 
didn't  mean  anything." 

I  paused. 

"And  so,  and  so  that  is  why  I  am  grieved  at  the 
loss  of  our  first  year." 

Dimbie  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment,  and  when 
he  moved  and  gently  placed  my  head  on  the  pillow 
I  was  startled  by  the  expression  of  his  face. 

93 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*'You  speak  from  your  experience  of  the  manner 
in  which  your  father  has  treated  your  mother,"  he 
said  at  length  slowly,  "and  that  is  a  httle  hard  on 
other  men.  Do  you  think  I  shall  ever  cease  to  want 
you,  Marguerite?" 

*'  I  don't  know,"  I  rephed. 

"Yes,  you  do."     His  voice  was  stem. 

"I  cannot  answer  for  the  future." 

"You  have  no  faith  in  me?" 

"You  see,  I  shall  be  a  helpless  log,  a  useless 
invahd  for  twelve  months  or  even  longer,"  I  said. 
"  It  will  be  a  great  strain  on  your  love." 

He  dropped  my  hand  and  made  to  go  away. 

"  Don't  go,"  I  cried. 

"Do  you  think  my  love  would  stand  the  test  of 
your  being  an  invalid  for  even  twenty  years?" 

I  did  not  answer. 

"  Do  you  ? "  he  said,  dropping  on  to  his  knees  and 
looking  into  my  eyes.    "  Do  you.  Marguerite,  vv'ife  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  whispered. 

"Thank  God  for  that!"  he  said.  "I  was  begin- 
ning to  think  —  I  was  afraid  you  did  not  understand 
me;  that  you  were  fearful  at  having  given  yourself 
to  me;  that  you  did  not  love  me,  in  fact,  as  I  love 
you,  for  where  there  is  love  there  is  no  fear."  He 
laid  his  cheek  to  mine,  murmurino:,  "  Marguerite ! 
Marguerite!"  and  so  we  sat  till  the  darkness  fell 
and  nurse  came  in. 


94 


CHAPTER    IX 

AMELIA    EXPRESSES    HER   OPINION   OF   ME 

AND  SO  I  have  settled  do^n  to  my  year  of 
inactivity,  of  schooling  my  temper,  of  a  con- 
stant looking  for  and  waiting  for  Dimbie,  and  of  a 
perpetual  wrestling  with  Amelia. 

When  I  told  the  last-named  of  my  misfortune  she 
just  stood  and  stared  at  me.  I  thought  she  could 
not  have  understood,  or  surely  there  would  be  a 
word  of  sympathy.     She  was  kind  at  heart  I  knew. 

"Twelve  whole  months  on  my  back,"  I  repeated 
plaintively. 

"And  never  have  a  bath,  mum.''" 

"Don't  be  silly,"  I  said  irritably.  "Of  course 
arrangements  will  be  made  for  my  baths.  And  all 
the  rooms  are  to  be  rearranged.  The  doctor  wishes 
me  to  be  carried  downstairk  The  dining-room  is  to 
be  turned  into  my  bedroom,  then  I  can  be  wheeled 
across  to  the  drawing-room  each  day;  and  the 
smoke-room  will  be  used  for  meals." 

"  The  smoke-room  is  full  of  bicycles  and  photo- 
graphic nibbish,"  she  said  argumentatively. 

"Well,  they  can  be  moved.  Don't  throw  stumb- 
95 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

ling-blocks  in  the  way  of  every  suggestion.     Are  you 
not  sorry  for  me?"  I  said. 

"Very,  mum,"  she  assured  me  mth  warmth.  "I 
knows  how  you  will  take  on.  No  one  is  never 
satisfied  with  anythink  in  this  world.  Now  here, 
I  would  give  my  very  heyes  to  be  a  grand  lady 
reclinin'  on  a  couch  in  a  beautiful  tea-gown, 
readin'  novels,  and  drinkin'  egg  and  sherry  twice 
a  day." 

"You  would  get  very  tired  of  it,"  I  sighed. 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  have  a  settled  hoccupation, 
mum  —  makin'  wool  mats  like  the  work'us  people, 
though  I  must  say  as  they  don't  like  it.  My  uncle 
says  they  used  to  be  quite  peaceful  and  happy  till 
them  Brabazon  ladies  came  along  and  taught  'em 
how  to  make  wool  mats  and  rush  baskets.  They 
worried  about  the  patterns  of  them  mats  till  the  old 
men  was  drove  fairly  silly.  P'r'aps  you  could  write 
poetry.  You  has  a  bit  of  a  look  sometimes  of  a 
person  —  I  mean  a  lady  who  could  write  poetry. 
There  was  a  poet  as  visited  Tompkinses'  —  a  sickly- 
looking  gent  with  hair  like  a  door-mat  and  a  com- 
plexion like  leeks  which  has  been  boiled  without 
soda.  Tompkinses  was  very  proud  of  knowing 
him,  and  the  heldest  Miss  Tompkins  used  to  Avear 
her  canary-coloured  satin  blouse  when  he  came  to 
dinner.  When  the  wine  was  offered  him  he  always 
said,  'No,  thanks,'  in  a  habstracted  way,  but  when 
it  went  round  the  table  again,  as  wine  does,  he'd 

96 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

fill  a  tumbler,  and  frown  at  the  ceiling,  and  pretend 
he  didn't  know  what  he  was  doing." 

"And  do  I  look  like  a  leek  that  has  been  boiled 
without  soda  ?  "  I  asked  faintly. 

"Oh,  no,  mum,"  Amelia  replied  with  comforting 
haste,  "not  quite  so  bad  yet.  You've  looked  more 
like  a  love-lies-bleeding  just  lately  since  you  had 
your  accident  —  though  the  master  seems  satisfied. 
Everybody's  tastes  is  different.  Love-lies-bleeding 
is  not  my  fancy.  I  like  something  handsome  and 
straight  up  like  a  sunflower  or  pee-ony.  Writin' 
poetry  would  help  to  pass  the  time,  and  you  has 
some  of  the  tricks  this  poet  had.  He'd  stand  and 
stare  at  the  moon,  when  he  was  in  the  garden  with 
Miss  Tompkins,  and  mutter  to  it  like  someone  gone 
daft.  He  fairly  skeered  me;  and  he'd  take  on  at 
catchin'  sight  of  a  vi'let  as  though  he'd  met  a  cock- 
roach." 

"  Well  ? "  I  asked,  trying  to  see  the  connec- 
tion. 

"  Well,  mum,  I  catched  you  carryin'  on  in  just  the 
same  way  in  the  garden  on  master's  birthday.  You 
was  starin'  up  at  the  sky  at  a  lark  —  I  was  going  to 
the  ashpit  —  and  I  heard  you  say  softly  to  yourself, 
'Bird,  thou  never  wert.'  I  couldn't  help  hearing 
you,  and  I  wondered  whether  you  thought  it  was  a 
kitten  or  a  spider." 

I  laughed,  though  I  didn't  want  to  do  so.  I  was 
hideously  depressed  at  the  thought  of  that  glorious 

97 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

spring  morning  and  now  —  but  Amelia  was  so  very 
ridiculous. 

I  watched  her  dusting,  which  was  vigorous  and 
thorough,  and  wished  she  would  put  Ruth,  a  picture 
above  the  mantelshelf,  at  a  more  decorous  angle. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  that  you  won't  be  able  to 
manage  the  housework  alone  without  my  assistance, 
Amelia,"  I  observed,  when  she  had  finished  bran- 
disliing  the  duster  about  and  had  stopped  squeaking. 
"  We  shall  have  to  engage  a  charwoman  to  help  you 
a  couple  of  days  a  week.  We  can't  afford  another 
servant,  I  am  sorry,  but  a  charwoman  will  be  very 
helpful.  Then  if  I  sent  all  the  washing  out  I  think 
you  could  manage.  Oh,  and  I  will  have  a  window 
cleaner,"  I  added  encouragingly. 

I  thought  she  would  be  pleased.  I  imagined 
servants  loved  charwomen.  I  know  I  should  were 
I  a  serv^ant  —  so  nice  to  have  someone  to  talk  to, 
and  into  whose  wilhng  ear  to  pour  tales  about  the 
mistress.  But  Amelia  snorted  so  violently  she  made 
me  jump. 

"Charwoman!"  It  would  be  difficult  to  convey 
the  scorn  in  her  voice.     "  Charwoman  helpful  ?  " 

"Aren't   they.^"   I   inquired. 

Amelia  flung  herself  towards  the  door. 

"You'd  never  seen  a  flue-brush,  mum,  and  now 
you  asks  if  a  charwoman  is  helpful." 

I  remained  silent,  overwhelmed  by  my  own  igno- 
rance. 

98 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Amelia  fetched  a  piece  of  wet,  soapy  jBannel,  and 
applied  it  to  some  of  her  own  finger-marks  on  the 
white  door.  I  felt  glad  she  was  working  off  her 
feelings  in  this  way. 

"  What  do  they  go  out  for  ?  "  I  said  at  length. 

"  Just  to  rob  the  silly  folks  who  engages  'em," 
she  replied  laconically. 

"  Are  they  all  like  that  ?  " 

"Everyone  as  I  met.  It  took  me  best  part  of  a 
day  to  clean  up  after  her  as  came  to  Tompkinses.' 
She  swilled  herself  in  beer  and  tea,  had  meat  tliree 
times  a  day,  and  hung  tea  and  butter  round  her 
waist  under  her  skirt  just  like  a  bustle  when  she 
went  away  in  the  evening." 

"  But  surely  she  was  an  exception  .'' "  I  commented. 

"No,  mum,  they're  all  like  that,  every  one  of 
'em,"  she  replied  firmly. 

"But  how  are  you  going  to  manage  now  I  am^ 
laid  up  .5" 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  perhaps  out  of  con- 
sideration for  my  feelings,  but  her  own  got  the 
better  of  her. 

"  I  shall  manage  all  right,"  said  she  briskly.  "  In 
fact,  I  shall  get  along  much  better.  Your  helping 
hindered  me  terribly,  mum.  I  hope  as  I'm  not 
hurtin'  your  feelin's.  You  see,"  she  added  kindly, 
"you  'adn't  been  used  to  work,  not  with  four  ser- 
vants; and  when  you  did  anytliink  I  always  had  to 
be  runnin'  after  you  to  wipe  up  the  mess.     You 

99 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

said  you'd  fill  the  lamps;  well,  you  did  when  you 
wasn't  putting  the  paraffin  on  the  table  —  there 
was  that  to  scrub,  and  your  gloves  and  scissors  to 
put  away.  And  the  day  as  you  said  you'd  make  a 
puddin',  well  —  the  sultanas  was  lying  about  like 
blackbeetles,  mum,  and  flour  all  over  the  place  just 
like  a  snowstorm.  And  it  was,  'Amelia,  put  the 
pan  on,  please,'  and  'Amelia,  take  it  off,'  and 
, '  Amelia,  put  some  coal  on  the  fire,  the  puddin' 
water's  stopped  boilin','  and  'Amelia,  the  puddin's 
boiled  dry.' " 

She  stopped  for  breath,  and  I  looked  drearily 
through  the  window. 

"Hope  you're  not  offended,  mum,  but  I  wanted 
you  to  hunderstand  as  how  I  could  manage  all 
right." 

"I  quite  understand,"  I  replied.  "No,  I  am  not 
offended.  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  of  much  use  in 
the  world,  Amelia,"  and  I  sighed. 

"But  the  master  doesn't  seem  to  want  you  any 
different,  mum,"  she  said  comfortingly.  "He  sits 
and  looks  at  you  as  though  you  had  won  a  prize 
at  a  show.  Mr.  Tompkins  used  to  stare  at  his 
black  prize  Minorca  just  in  the  same  hidentical 
way." 

"His  black  Minorca.'*"  I  repeated  vaguely. 

"  Yes,  mum.  One  of  his  hens  as  got  a  first  prize, 
and  was  a  rare  layer." 

"Oh!"  I  murmured. 

100 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  I  must  go  now,"  she  said,  "  and  put  the  potatoes 
on  for  your  lunch.  And  don't  you  fret  about  the 
work,  mum.  As  soon  as  ever  nurse  has  gone,  who 
makes  a  power  of  mess,  I  shall  have  plenty  of  time 
and  to  spare,  and  can  put  a  patch  on  my  pink 
body." 

"  What,  another  ?  "  I  almost  shouted.  "  That  will 
make  the  seventh." 

She  regarded  me  with  uplifted  brows. 

"You  don't  want  the  bones  of  my  stays  to  come 
through,  mum?" 

"Oh,  no,"  I  assured  her  quickly.  "But  is  it 
necessary  to  have  quite  so  many  bones?  I  have 
only  about  six  altogether." 

She  looked  me  up  and  down  with  an  eye  devoid 
of  any  admiration. 

"Of  course,  I  don't  wear  corsets  at  all  now,"  I 
hastened  to  explain. 

"My  figger  has  always  been  my  strong  point, 
mum,  and  I'm  not  goin'  to  let  myself  go.  Of  course, 
you're  thin,  mum,  so  it  doesn't  matter  so  much. 
But  people  who  lets  themselves  go  always  has  big 
waists,  hke  the  statues  in  picture  galleries.  I  once 
went  to  a  show  in  Whitechapel,  and  I  says  to  the 
girl  who  went  along  with  me  'I'd  be  downright 
ashamed  if  I  couldn't  show  a  smaller  waist  than 
that  Venus.'  I  expect  yours  will  be  pretty  big  when 
you  gets  about  again,"  with  which  comforting  pre- 
diction she  retired  to  the  lower  regions  and  left  me 
101 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

with  this  pleasing  prospect  and  my  own  thoughts, 
which  were  not  of  the  most  cheerful  description. 
It  is  hard  to  be  told  that  one  is  of  no  use  in  the 
world,  and  to  be  compared  with  a  black  prize 
Minorca,  however  good  a  layer! 


102 


CHAPTER   X 

I    DISCOVER  THAT   DR.    RENTON   IS   IN   LOVE 

URSE  has  gone,  and  I  am  not  overwhelmed 
with  grief.  I  could  quite  see  that  witliin 
another  week  the  kitchen  would  have  been  turned 
into  a  pugihstic  ring,  and  she  and  Amelia  would 
have  settled  their  grievances  in  a  fight. 

Amelia  has  said,  with  her  nose  in  the  air,  "  Seems 
to  tliink  I  am  just  here  to  wait  on  her,  mum.  Nurses 
halways  imagines  they're  duchesses,  and  just  took 
to  nursin'  out  of  pilanthropy." 

And  nurse  has  said  kindly,  "  I  don't  want  to  worry 
you,  Mrs.  Westover,  but  probably  that  girl  is  here 
just  as  a  temporary,  or  I  shouldn't  speak;  but  really 
her  impertinence  is " 

"She  is  quite  permanent,"  I  have  hastened  to 
assure  her,  at  which  she  too  has  stuck  her  nose  in 
the  air;  and  so  they  have  gone  about  as  though  the 
law  of  gravitation  v/as  reversed,  and  their  noses 
permanently  drawn  heavenwards. 

I  am  downstairs  in  the  drawing-room.  I  found 
awaiting  me  an  invalid  couch  —  an  Ilkley  —  low 
and  luxurious,  with  soft  down  cushions  cased  in  silk 

103 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

of  a  lovely  golden  hue  —  a  couch  contrived  to  ease 
the  weariness  of  tired  people.  They  have  pushed  it 
into  the  window,  and  from  here  I  can  see  all  my 
friends  of  the  garden  —  the  apple  tree  best  loved  of 
all,  for  is  it  not  our  very  own  tree,  growing  on  our 
domain  ?  One  has  a  peculiar  affection  for  one's  own 
possessions.  Not  that  I  am  anything  but  grateful  to 
the  beech  in  the  frog-pond  field  for  casting  its  cool 
shadow  across  the  lawn;  but  it  belongs  to  somebody 
else  —  perhaps  some  farmer  who  hardly  knows  of  its 
existence. 

My  descent  from  the  upper  regions  was  somewhat 
perilous.  We  —  Amelia,  nurse,  and  I  —  wanted  to 
take  Dimbie  by  surprise,  so  nurse  said  she  would 
superintend  my  removal.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she 
did  nothing  of  the  kind,  for  Amelia  superintended  it. 

First  of  all  she  made  me  put  up  my  hair.  She 
said  I  could  not  "boss  the  show"  with  it  hanging 
down  in  two  plaits.  I  reflected  that  were  I  to  dress 
it  as  high  as  the  Eiffel  Tower  I  should  not  be  able  to 
boss  her,  but  I  did  not  mention  this.  Next  she 
picked  up  her  end  of  the  chair  and  fairly  ran  with 
me  down  the  stairs,  nurse  being  bound  to  follow. 
I  closed  my  eyes  and  held  my  breath,  and  when  I 
opened  them  again  I  found  myself  staring  at  two 
gorgeous  yellow  flags  decorated  with  portraits  of 
the  King  and  Queen.  They  had  certainly  not  been 
there  on  the  last  occasion  of  my  being  in  the  drawing- 
room.  The  King  wore  a  top-hat  and  carelessly 
104 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

held  a  cigar  in  his  kid-gloved  hand.  The  Queen, 
poor  thing,  was  extremely  decolletee,  and  wore  mauve 
roses  in  her  hair.  The  King,  in  morning  dress, 
seemed  out  of  place  to  me  by  the  side  of  such 
grandeur  on  the  part  of  his  spouse. 

Amelia  broke  into  my  musings. 

"Thought  we  would  have  a  bit  of  decoration, 
like  the  Jubilee,  mum,  in  your  honour,  so  I  got 
them  flags  in  the  village." 

She  looked  at  me  expectantly,  and  nurse  sniffed. 

The  sniff  annoyed  me. 

"It  was  extremely  kind  of  you,  Amelia,"  I  said 
warmly.     "  Thank  you  very  much." 

"  And  the  Hilkley,  mum  ?  The  master  got  that, 
and  we  smuggled  it  into  the  house  without  your 
hearing  anythink  that  was  going  on.  And  he's  been 
wheeling  it  about  hever  since,  trying  to  get  the  best 
persition,  where  the  sun  wouldn't  catch  your  eyes, 
and  where  you  could  see  the  garden  and  the  happle 
tree." 

"  I  think  it  is  lovely.  Please  lift  me  on  to  it, 
nurse.  You  will  have  to  lift  me  to-morrow,  Amelia," 
I  said  soothingly. 

She  watched  the  proceeding  carefully,  and  with 
gentle  hand  arranged  the  cushions.  The  hand  was 
rough  and  coarsened  by  hard  work,  but  I  felt  that  it 
would  ever  be  ready  to  do  my  service. 

I  told  them  to  leave  me,  as  I  wanted  to  be  alone. 
I  wanted  to  think.  Now  that  I  was  downstairs  I 
105 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

wished  to  review  my  position.  The  famihar  aspect 
of  the  room,  the  furniture  —  which  AmeHa  had 
pushed  against  the  walls  with  an  undesirable  effort 
at  neatness  —  conjured  up  a  thousand  pleasant 
memories.  It  had  been  on  a  snowy  winter  afternoon 
when  Dimbie  and  I  had  first  come  home.  How 
peaceful,  how  delicious  the  warm,  fire-lit  room  had 
seemed  after  the  rush  of  hotel  life!  We  sat  in  the 
gloaming  talking,  planning  out  our  fives,  what  we 
would  do,  where  we  would  go;  and  now  —  ah!  when 
should  I  cease  to  chafe  at  lying  still  ?  I  thought  of 
all  the  people  who  had  had  to  lie  so  much  —  Mrs. 
Browning,  Stevenson,  and  they  had  seemed  so 
patient  over  years  of  ill-health  —  and  my  inactivity 
was  but  for  one  year,  and  yet  I  was  not  patient. 

Doctor  Renton  came  Into  the  room,  bearing  in 
his  arms  a  great  bunch  of  roses. 

"From  your  mother,"  he  said;  "she  came  round 
with  them  this  morning.  She  wanted  to  come  with 
me." 

"And  why  didn't  she.^"     I  felt  my  eyes  kindle. 

"You  know,"  he  replied  with  a  shrug. 

"  Peter  is  a  beast ! "  I  said. 

He  smiled. 

"  You  are  evidently  better.  I  am  glad  to  find  you 
downstairs.     How  did  you  manage  the  removal.-^" 

I  described  it  fully,  and  he  laughed. 

"  That  girl  of  yours  is  a  brick.  I  should  keep  her." 
106 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"She  wouldn't  go,"  I  said. 

"She  will  help  you  not  to  be  lonely.  Have  you 
made  any  friends  here  yet.^" 

"  No,"  I  returned.  "  I  believe  some  people  called 
when  I  was  ill.     But  I  don't  want  anybody." 

"  You  only  want  your  husband  ?  " 

I  nodded. 

"You  seem  uncommonly  fond  of  one  another." 

"Of  course,"  I  said. 

To  my  suiprise  he  sighed  and  walked  to  the 
window.  I  noticed  his  figure  was  a  little  bent  and 
his  hair  grey.  I  had  known  Dr.  Renton  all  my  life, 
but  for  the  first  time  it  came  to  me  that  he  was 
lonely. 

"T^liy  have  you  never  married?"  I  asked 
suddenly.     He  surely  wanted  a  wife. 

He  started,  and  then  smiled. 

"All  young  married  people  want  to  know  that  of 
their  friends,"  he  said  evasively. 

"I  think  you  would  have  made  an  awfully  nice 
husband,  and  —  it  seems  such  a  pity  that  you  should 
be  alone." 

He  picked  up  one  of  the  roses  which  I  had  untied 
and  held  it  to  his  face. 

"  How  do  you  mean,  a  pity  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  you  should  be  in  that  great  big  house 
at  Dorking  by  yourself  when  there  are  so  many 
women  in  the  world.  They  seem  to  overflow.  I 
don't  know  what  is  to  be  done  with  them  all." 

107 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*'  So  you  want  to  marry  me  for  the  sake  of  reducing 
the  number  of  spinsters  ?  "     He  laughed. 

"Well,  not  exactly,"  I  repUed.  "But  I  feel  you 
have  lost  so  much  —  you  and  the  woman  you  ought 
to  have  married." 

"How  do  you  know  there  was  one?"  he  asked 
sharply. 

I  smiled. 

"I  guessed,"  I  said.  "I  am  quite  brilliant  at 
times.     Where  is  she  ?  " 

"In  India." 

He  stopped  abruptly  on  the  word,  and  from  his 
attitude  I  realised  he  would  have  given  much  to 
recall  it.     I  felt  I  had  been  impertinent. 

"  Forgive  me "  I  began. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  mind.  It's  rather 
a  relief  to  speak  of  it.  You  —  you  are  still  in  love, 
and  will  understand.  Once  there  was  a  time  when 
I  looked  forward  to  being  married.  I  looked  forward 
greatly.     I  thought  of  it  morning,  noon,  and  night." 

"Well.?"  I  said  gently. 

"She  went  abroad." 

"  But  why  ?     Didn't  she  return  your  love  ?  " 

"I  — I  don't  know." 

"  You  don't  know  ?  "     I  raised  my  voice. 

"No." 

"Didn't  you  tell  her?" 

"You  see,  she  went  off  so  quickly.  She  was  in 
such  a  deuce  of  a  hurry  to  get  abroad." 

108 


Dimbie  and  1  —  and  Amelia 

"  What  do  you  call  a  hurry  ?  " 

Dr.  Renton  shuffled. 

"  Perhaps  you  knew  her  for  three  months  ?  " 

"I  knew  her  for  two  years." 

"  And  you  call  two  years  a  hurry  ?  "  I  endeavoured 
to  keep  the  sarcasm  out  of  my  voice. 

"Of  course,  I  didn't  know  if  she  cared  anything 
about  me." 

"  Did  you  expect  her  to  propose  to  you  ^  " 

"Oh,  no,  certainly  not." 

"I  see,  you  dangled  about  her  for  two  years.  In 
fact,  you  almost  compromised  her.  Then  you  were 
astonished  at  the  poor  Vioman  running  away.  Year 
after  year  you  played  fast  and  loose  with  her " 

"I  don't  call  two  years  year  after  year,"  he 
interrupted  meekly. 

"I  do,"  I  said  severely.  "Dimbie  was  only  six 
weeks." 

He  laughed. 

"  We  are  not  all  made  of  the  same  stuff  as  Dimbie." 
He  spoke  so  humbly,  so  unlike  his  usual  decided 
self,  that  I  began  to  feel  sorry  for  him. 

"And  do  you  think  this  woman  will  ever  come 
back  .5" 

"I  wish  to  God  she  would,"  he  said,  with  an 
intensity  that  startled  me. 

"Why,  I  do  believe  you  still  care  for  her,"  I  said. 

"Of  course  I  do,"  he  returned  with  asperity.  "I 
thought  I  mentioned  that." 

109 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"No,  you  didn't.  You  simply  said  you  had 
driven  a  woman  to  India.  Poor  thing,  my  heart 
bleeds  for  her.  I  expect  her  tears  have  made  a 
sort  of  railway  cutting  down  her  cheeks,  and  she 
will  be  prematurely  aged." 

Dr.  Renton  grunted. 

"If  you  still  care  for  her,  may  I  ask  why  you 
don't  follow  her,  or  Avrite  to  her.'*" 

"That  is  what  I  have  asked  myself  a  thousand 
times  a  day,"  he  cried,  walking  up  and  down  the 
room.     "For  years  I  have  been  asking  myself." 

"Years!"  I  said  in  dismay.     "Is  it  years .^" 

He  nodded. 

"Then  I  am  afraid  you  are  too  late."     I  sighed. 

"  Of  course  I  am.  I've  been  a  fool.  Now  it  is 
too  late." 

"I'm  very  sorry." 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Good-bye." 

"  Can  nothing  be  done .' "  I  wondered. 

"I'm  afraid  not,  Marguerite." 

"But  you  would  be  so  happy  married." 

"Do  you  think  all  married  people  are  happy .'^" 

"No,  according  to  Nanty  few  of  them  are.  But 
I  think  you  would  have  been,  and  I  am  sure  of 
your  wife.  You  are  so  strong  and  kind.  I  always 
think  of  you  in  the  same  way  as  I  think  of  Miss 
Fairbrother." 

"Oh!"  he  said,  turning  his  face  away. 
110 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Yes,  as  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary 
and  thirsty  land.  You  are  both  such  comforting 
people.  Do  you  remember  Miss  Fairbrother,  my 
old  governess  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said,  and  he  walked  quickly  to  the 
door  and  went  out. 


Ill 


CHAPTER   XI 

MY   FIRST   CALLER 

YESTERDAY  morning  DImbie  said  to  me  — 
"  Have  any  of  those  beastly  women  called  yet  ?  " 

"What  women?"  I  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  the  women  who  live  round  here,  of  coui'se. 
I  suppose  there  are  one  or  two  knocking  about  ?  I 
saw  a  lady  with  thick  ankles  and  a  Wellington  nose 
come  out  of  the  Old  Grange." 

"No,  she's  not  been,"  I  said  laughing.  "We've 
only  been  here  six  months,  and  we're  poor.  If  they 
came  in  a  hurry  it  would  look  as  though  they 
wanted  to  know  us." 

"And  I'm  jolly  sure  we  don't  want  to  know 
them." 

Dimbie  was  heated. 

"Of  course  we  don't  dear;  but  they  won't  realise 
that." 

"  Still,  it  would  be  rather  nice  if  somebody  dropped 
in  occasionally  to  have  a  chat  with  you  and  discuss 
Amelia,"  he  said. 

"I  don't  want  to  discuss  Amelia,"  I  retorted. 

"I  wish  Nanty  would  come  a  bit  oftener." 
112 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"It  is  a  long  way  for  her  to  drive.  Why  do  you 
wish  to  cram  the  house  with  women  ? "  I  said 
plaintively.  "I  have  quite  enough  to  do  with  my 
reading,  mending,  sewing,  and  writing  without  being 
inundated  by  a  lot  of  strange  females." 

His  dear  face  brightened. 

"So  long  as  you  don't  feel  lonely  and  the  days 
long,  that's  all  right."  He  stroked  my  head  the 
wrong  way. 

"I'm  not  a  bit  lonely,"  I  said.  "No  one  could 
be  lonely  or  dull  who  had  an  Amelia;  and  now  the 
weather  is  so  warm  and  lovely  I  lie  for  hours  under 
the  apple  tree.  June  herself  is  more  than  a  com- 
panion. I  think  I  am  going  to  read;  I  cut  the 
magazines,  take  out  a  new  novel,  and  then  I  he 
with  eyes  half  closed  looking  at  the  gifts  June  has 
lavished  with  prodigal  hand,  listening  to  the  whis- 
perings of  leaves  and  grass  and  flowers." 

"What  a  patient,  plucky  little  girl,"  he  whispered. 

"Patient!"  I  cried,  when  he  had  gone,  and  the 
click  of  the  gate  told  me  another  long  day  had  to 
be  lived  through  alone.     "  Patient ! " 

But  how  glad  I  am  he  doesn't  know. 

The  little  lazy  insects  seem  so  happy  to  be  doing 
nothing.  They  spread  their  wings  in  the  warm 
sun,  and  rub  their  httle  legs  together  from  sheer 
contentment  at  just  being  alive.  They  regard  with 
ill-concealed  scorn  the  aggressive  busyness  of  the 
bees  in  the  syringa  bush,  who,  like  all  working 
113 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

things,  are  kicking  up  a  tremendous  fuss  about 
their  efforts.  "Laziness,  doing  notliing,"  the  in- 
sects say,  "breed  peace  and  contentment."  "But 
what  about  enforced  laziness  —  lying  still  on  a 
couch?"  I  cry. 

Oxshott  Woods  are  calling  me.  I  want  to  lie 
on  the  warm,  scented  pine-needles,  with  the  sun 
filtering  through  the  branches  of  the  sad,  stately 
trees  on  to  my  face;  I  want  my  senses  to  be  lulled 
into  that  beatific  repose  which  only  Nature  sounds 
can  achieve.  One  thinks  that  woods  —  pine  woods 
—  on  a  calm  day  are  still ;  but  lie  and  listen  care- 
fully, and  one  will  marvel  at  the  multitude  of  sounds, 
at  the  little  hoppings  and  twitterings,  and  scurryings 
and  crawlings  and  peckings.  You  are  far  too  lazy 
to  turn  your  head,  but  you  are  conscious  that  little 
bright  eyes  have  you  well  in  focus,  that  a  movement 
on  your  part  will  cause  fear  and  confusion  in  the 
settlement,  so  —  you  don't  turn  your  head.  You 
like  to  know  that  they  are  there,  and  presently  you 
fall  asleep,  and  who  knows  what  they  do  then  "^ 

And  I  am  to  miss  all  tliis.  The  woods  may  call, 
but  I  must  He  still.  The  wild-rose  hedges  may 
send  messages  to  me  on  the  soft  south  wind,  invita- 
tions to  view  their  loveliness,  but  I  must  refuse  them 
all.     I  must  wait  for  another  year. 

Amelia  is  anxious  to  wheel  me  into  the  lane. 
Dimbie  is  more  anxious,  but  I  say  "no."  Who 
that  is  injured  is  not  sensitive  ^  I  dread  the  encoun- 
114 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

tering  of  curious  eyes,  of  eyes  that  even  might  be 
pitying. 

I  want  to  be  left  alone  in  the  garden  with  the 
birds  and  insects.  They  don't  allude  to  my  mis- 
fortune, they  don't  pity  me.  They  always  say  the 
right  thing. 

*  *  *  *  ♦ 

As  though  in  direct  answer  to  Dimbie's  inquiry, 
the  woman  with  the  thick  ankles  from  the  Old 
Grange  has  called. 

I  must  have  fallen  asleep,  for  I  was  dreaming 
most  foolishly  and  beautifully  that  Dimbie  and  I 
were  in  a  meadow  making  daisy-chains,  when  I 
was  rudely  brought  back  to  my  own  drawing-room 
—  Amelia  had  wheeled  me  into  the  house  as  the 
sun  had  gone  —  by  hearing  her  say,  "  A  lady  to  see 
you,  mum." 

A  little  irritably  —  for  I  didn't  want  to  leave  the 
daisy-chains  —  I  looked  round  for  the  lady,  but 
she  wasn't  there. 

"She's  on  the  doorstep,  mum.  Will  you  see 
her.?" 

"Of  course,"  I  said.  "You  must  never  leave 
people  on  the  doorstep;  it  is  very  rude." 

"  What  about  old  clothes  women,  mum  ? " 

I  ignored  her  question,  which  seemed  to  me 
unusually  foolish,  and  asked  her  what  she  meant 
by  wearing  the  tea-rose  slippers,  which  I  had  ex- 
pressly forbidden. 

115 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Go  and  change  them,"  I  commanded,  "when 
you  have  announced  the  lady." 

Her  "announcing"  was  unusual.  "The  lady, 
mum.  Sit  down,  please."  At  which  she  pushed  a 
chair  behind  my  visitor's  legs  with  so  much  force 
that  she  simply  fell  on  to  it. 

"You  must  excuse  my  servant,"  I  said  apologeti- 
cally when  AmeUa  had  vanished.  "She  is  utterly 
untrained  but  invaluable."  I  held  out  my  hand  as 
I  spoke,  which  the  lady  touched  coldly. 

"My  name  is  Mrs.  Cobbold,  and  I  live  at  the 
Old  Grange,"  she  announced  with  a  trumpet  note. 

"Oh,  of  course,  Amelia  forgot  to  mention  it,"  I 
said  politely. 

"She  didn't  know  it."     She  was  aggrieved  now. 

"She  could  hardly  mention  it  then,"  I  said 
smiling,  wishing  to  cheer  her  up.  But  this  simple 
and  natural  comment  appeared  to  have  the  opposite 
effect,  for  her  brow  lowered,  and  the  jet  butterfly 
in  her  bonnet  quivered  ominously. 

"  I  have  called  because  I  heard  you  were  a  — 
an  invalid,  Mrs.  Westover  —  that  you  were  confined 
to  your  couch." 

Her  deportment  dared  me  to  contradict  her. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  I  said  pacifically. 

"Not  kindness,  but  duty." 

"Which  makes  your  effort  all  the  more  praise- 
worthy," I  said  gently. 

She  looked  at  me  sharply  —  through  her  fince- 
116 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

nez  which  gripped  her  nose  very  tightly  —  sus- 
piciously almost,  but  she  misunderstood  me.  I  had 
not  intended  to  be  sarcastic.  I  was  really  touched 
at  the  sacrifice  she  was  evidently  making  on  my 
behalf.  I  felt  she  was  a  district  visitor  —  probably 
the  right  hand  of  the  vicar  of  the  parish.  She  must 
need  refreshment.  She  wore  the  look  of  one  whose 
tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth. 

I  rang  the  tortoise,  and  requested  Ameha  to  bring 
tea. 

"No  tea  for  me,  thank  you,"  Mrs.  Cobbold 
Cjuickly  interposed. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  I  said.  "  Perhaps  you  won't  object 
to  my  having  a  cup  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  but  I  never  take  anything  between 
meals." 

She  seemed  quite  proud  about  this. 

"Really!"  I  murmured  interestedly.  "But  tea 
is  a  meal  with  me." 

There  was  a  pause.  I  could  hear  Amelia  sing- 
ing, "Now  we  shan't  be  long,"  which  meant  she 
was  reaching  out  the  best  tea-things.  The  best 
tea-things  appear  to  uplift  her  in  a  curious  way. 
Perhaps  by  using  them  she  feels  we  are  gradually 
rising  to  the  social  status  of  the  Tompldnses,  who 
had  an  "at  home"  day  with  netted  d'oyleys,  and 
tea  handed  round  by  Amelia  herself  on  a  silver 
salver. 

I  wondered  if  Mrs.  Cobbold  could  hear  her  sing- 
117 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

ing.  I  felt  sure  she  would  strongly  disapprove  of 
any  maid  indulging  in  such  vocal  flights,  and  in 
spite  of  myself  I  laughed.  Our  eyes  met:  hers  were 
green  .and  hard,  and  in  their  depths  I  discovered 
that  she  disapproved  of  the  mistress  more  than  of 
the  singing  maid. 

I  smiled  again  —  I  couldn't  help  it ;  and  then  I 
racked  my  brain  for  something  interesting  and 
polite  to  say. 

Mrs.  Cobbold  forestalled  me. 
"  When  is  it  expected .''  if  I  may  venture  to  ask 
you." 

"In  about  ten  minutes." 

"Gracious  goodness!"  she  ejaculated,  springing 
heavily  to  her  feet. 

"Whatever's  the  matter.^"  I  cried,  nearly  falling 
off  the  couch. 

"  I  thought  —  I  was  led  to  understand  that " 

she  stammered  and  broke  off. 

"  Well  ? "  I  said,  gazing  at  her  in  unconcealed 
astonishment. 

"  That  —  that  —  you  will  pardon  my  mentioning 
it,  but  —  I  am  a  mother  myself.  And  I  was  quite 
interested  in  hearing  that  the  population  of  Pine 
Tree  Valley  was  about  to  be  increased.  But  I  did 
not  imagine  it  would  be  so  soon." 

I  lay  and  stared  at  her.     She  had  reseated  her- 
self, and  again  wore  the  district  visitor  air.     Was 
she   mad   or  —  suddenly,    in   a   flash,  the   drift   of 
118 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

her  remarks  became  clear  to  me.  I  strangled  a 
laugh. 

"The  increase  in  the  population  of  Pine  Tree 
Valley  has  nothing  to  do  with  me,"  I  said,  a  little 
coldly. 

She  looked  disappointed. 

"I  am  suffering  from  an  accident." 

"  Oh,"  she  said  grudgingly. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  disappointed." 

"The  vicar's  wife  has  misinformed  me." 

"Perhaps  she  has  been  gifted  Avith  a  vivid  imag- 
ination," I  suggested.  "It  is  unfortunate,  as  it 
might  get  her  into  trouble." 

Mrs.  Cobbold  looked  or  rather  glared  at  me 
over  the  top  of  her'glasses.  I  was  relieved  when 
Amelia  appeared  wuth  tea.  I  even  forgave  her  for 
her  tea-rose  slippers,  wiiich  in  her  excitement  she 
had  omitted  to  change.  Casually  I  inspected  the 
three-decker  bread  and  butter  and  cake-stand.  I 
felt  sure  that  Amelia  would  have  upheld  the  honour 
and  glory  of  the  family  by  " doing"  the  thing  nicely. 
The  first  plate  was  beyond  reproach,  nicely-cut 
bread  and  butter  reposing  on  best  netted  d'oyley. 
Mrs.  Cobbold's  parlour-maid  could  have  done  no 
better.  But  the  second  plate  made  me  pause. 
What  was  it  ?  I  rubbed  my  eyes.  Did  I  see  a  lonely 
macaroon  garnished  by  a  ring  of  radishes  —  pointed 
red,  fibrous  radishes,  with  long  green  tops  — 
arranged  with  a  mathematical  precision,  or  did  I 

119 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

not  ?  I  leaned  forward  for  a  closer  inspection  — • 
perhaps  they  were  chocolate  radishes  or  almond 
radishes.  My  breath  came  quickly,  and  a  jet  butter- 
fly smote  me  on  the  forehead  —  Mrs.  Cobbold  had 
also  leaned  forward.  The  butterfly  hurt  me.  That 
I  didn't  mind.  What  I  did  object  to  was  Mrs. 
Cobbold's  impertinent  curiosity.  If  we  chose  to 
garnish  a  macaroon  with  radishes  it  was  none  of 
her  business. 

"Won't  you  change  your  mind  and  have  some 
tea  "^ "  I  said,  recovering  myself.  "  Macaroons 
and  radishes  are  so  nice  together  —  a  German 
tea  delicacy."  I  nibbled  the  end  of  one  of  the 
radishes  as  I  spoke,  and  found  it  so  hot  my  eyes 
watered. 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  almost  snorted.  "Are  you 
German  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  I  rephed,  "I  am  Cjuite  English  mth 
just  a  few  foreign  tastes."  I  covertly  dropped  the 
radish  down  the  side  of  the  couch  as  I  spoke. 

"  Where  were  you  born  ?  " 

"  I  was  born  in  Dorking,  I  mean  Westmoreland," 
I  said  wanderingly.  I  was  debating  as  to  what  had 
come  over  Amelia. 

"So  you  are  north-country  really .''"  Her  voice 
was  patronising. 

"Yes,"  I  returned,  "isn't  it  interesting.''* 

She  again  i-egarded  me  with  suspicion. 

"North-country  people  are  becoming  quite  rare. 
120 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Perhaps  you   have  noticed  it  ?     Everybody  comes 
from  the  south." 

She  did  not  speak. 

"And  you,"  I  inquired  gently,  "are  you  a  native 
of  Pine  Tree  Valley.?" 

"  No,"  she  replied  shortly,  "  but  I  have  Uved  here 
ever  since  I  was  a  girl." 

"So  long.?"  I  said  thoughtlessly.  And  she  rose 
and  offered  me  her  hand,  which  felt  like  a  non- 
committal Bath  Oliver. 

"  It  has  been  so  kind  of  you  to  come  to  see  me," 
I  said,  shaking  the  biscuit  up  and  down. 

She  unbent  a  little. 

"I  will  try  to  come  again,  but  won't  promise. 
My  days  are  so  full.  Do  you  know  any  of  the 
people  here?" 

"  No,"  I  admitted. 

"The  Honourable  Mrs.  Parkin-Dervis  not 
called?" 

"No." 

She  looked  perplexed  and  annoyed. 

"But  she  told  me  she  teas  coming.  She  heard 
that  you  were  confined  to  the  house." 

"She's  not  been,"  I  said.  "I  am  sorry.  I  sup- 
pose she  always  leads  the  way  in  the  question  of 
calling  upon  new  people.  But  you  needn't  feel  you 
have  committed  yourself.  You  see,  I  shan't  be  able 
to  return  your  call,  so  please  don't  feel  you  must 
come  again  unless  you  want  to." 

121 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"It's  not  that,"  she  said;  "but,  you  see,  my  days 
are  so  full." 

"  Of  course  they  are,"  I  agreed  warmly.  "  I  shall 
quite  understand,  Mrs.  Cobbold.  I'm  so  sorry 
Amelia  is  not  here  to  show  you  out,  but  were  I  to 
ring  the  tortoise  for  ten  minutes  she  wouldn't  come. 
She  is  chopping  wood  —  perhaps  you  hear  her. 
Amelia  never  takes  the  slightest  notice  of  anybody 
when  she  is  chopping  wood  —  they  are  Hudson's 
Dry  Soap  boxes  —  the  more  one  rings  the  louder 
she  chops." 

"  If  she  were  my  maid,"  said  Mrs.  Cobbold,  "  I'd 
make  her " 

"No,  you  wouldn't,"  I  interrupted.  "You  think 
you  would,  but  you  wouldn't.  We  thought  the 
same  when  she  first  came  to  us,  but  now  we  don't. 
Good-bye." 

Through  an  unfortunate  accident  the  tortoise  rang 
loudly  as  I  spoke.  I  caught  my  sleeve  in  its  tail, 
and  it  sounded  as  though  I  were  cheering  Mrs. 
Cobbold's  departure.  She  left  the  house  with  a 
flounce  and  a  flourish.  We  may  meet  again  in 
another  world,  but  I  am  certainly  not  on  Mrs. 
Cobbold's  visiting  list  in  this. 

When  I  heard  the  garden  gate  bang  I  rang  for 
Amelia. 

"  I  am  never  at  home  to  that  lady,"  I  said. 

Amelia  stared. 

"  Where  will  you  be,  mum .'' " 
122 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*'I  shall  be  here,  of  course.  Don't  you  under- 
stand, I  shall  not  see  her." 

"Am  I  to  say  that.?" 

"  You're  to  say,  '  Not  at  home.' " 

"I  can't  say  that  if  you  are."  Her  face  was 
stolid. 

"Ameha,"  I  cried,  "return  to  your  soap  boxes 
quickly,  or  I  might  fling  the  tortoise  at  you." 

"But " 

"Go!"  I  said,  and  with  a  loud  crack  of  a  bone 
she  departed,  filled  with  amazement. 


123 


CHAPTER   XII 

NANTT   CHEERS   ME   UP 

A  DAY  has  come  when  it  is  gusty  and  wet. 
Last  night  the  sun,  which  has  been  so  kind  to 
us  of  late,  disappeared  red  and  angry,  leaxdng  behind 
it  a  sky  of  flaming  glory. 

I  said  to  Dimbie  that  perhaps  we  had  not  been 
sufficiently  grateful  to  his  majesty,  that  we  had 
begun  to  take  him  for  granted,  and  that  we  should 
never  make  the  sun  feel  cheap. 

And  so  to-day  the  little  forget-me-nots  and  vel- 
vety, sweet-faced  pansies  have  laid  their  heads  on 
mother  earth,  driven  there  by  squalls  of  angry  wind 
and  rain,  and  the  long  brandies  of  the  beech  tree 
in  the  frog-pond  field  are  waving  and  bending  and 
shaking  out  their  wealth  of  still  tender  green  leaves 
with  fine  abandon. 

I  am  solicitous  for  the  sweet-peas.  Dimbie  has 
been  late  in  putting  in  the  sticks  for  them  to  climb 
up,  and  their  hold  is  slight  and  v/avering.  Two 
long  hedges  of  Eckfords  and  Tennants  and  Burpees, 
and  that  loveliest  of  all  sweet-peas.  Countess  Cado- 
124 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

gan,  flank  the  lawn  on  either  side.  In  a  few  days 
they  will  all  be  out,  and  I  shall  lie  in  the  midst 
of  a  many-hued,  blossoming  sweetness.  So  much 
have  I  to  be  thanliful  for.  A  cripple  in  town  would 
stare  at  brick  walls,  yet  to-day  only  discontent  sits 
at  my  side. 

I  am  cold  —  rain  in  summer  makes  the  inside  of  a 
creeper-covered  cottage  very  chilly.  The  water  drips 
from  the  leaves  of  the  clematis  —  drips,  drips.  I 
want  to  be  up  and  doing.  The  rain  on  my  cheek  in 
the  woods  and  lanes  would  be  gracious  and  sweet- 
scented.  The  raindrops  lying  in  the  heart  of  the 
honeysuckle  would  be  as  nectar  for  the  gods.  But 
a  rainy  world  when  one  is  a  prisoner  \\dtliin  four 
walls  is  truly  depressing,  and  there  wall  be  no 
Dimbie  to-night. 

Dimbie,  dear,  do  you  know  how  much  I  miss 
you.''  The  heart  of  your  Marguerite  calls  for  you, 
calls  for  you. 

You  say  you  Tfill  be  back  soon,  but  you  don't 
know.  Little  old  ladies  take  a  long  time  to  die. 
The  flame  flickers  and  flares  up  and  flickers  and 
gutters,  and  is  so  long  in  going  out.  What  am  I 
saying.''  Dimbie,  forgive  me,  dear.  I  don't  want 
Aunt  Letitia  to  die.  I  am  praying  for  her  to  get 
better.  Ill  or  well,  she  needs  you,  or  she  would  not 
have  sent  for  you,  for  her  message  was:  "I  know 
your  wife  wants  you.  but  I  want  you  more;  and  it 
will  only  be  for  a  few  days,  and  then  you  may  return 
125 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

to  her.  I  would  much  like  to  have  seen  Marguerite, 
but " 

What  does  that  "but"  mean  I  wonder?  Does 
she  know  that  the  journey  is  nearly  over?  And 
Dimbie  says  that  that  journey  has  been  one  of  great 
loneliness,  borne  with  a  great  patience  and  cheerful- 
ness. I  think  God  will  create  a  separate  heaven  for 
very  lonely  women.  He  will  give  them  Httle  children 
and  a  love  that  passeth  all  understanding.  The  love 
that  has  been  withheld  from  them  in  this  world 
will  be  given  to  them  a  thousandfold  in  the  New 
Jerusalem. 

I  am  always  sorry  for  lonely  women. 

Nanty  came  in  breezy  and  fresh  and  wet,  and 
my  loneliness  vanished. 

"  I  have  told  Jolm  to  put  up  in  the  village,  and 
I  can  stay  with  you  for  a  couple  of  hours,"  she 
announced,  removing  her  cloak.  "And  you  have 
been  crying." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Well,  there  are  two  tears  at  the  back  of  your 
eyes  ready  to  fall." 

"  Not  now,"  I  said. 

"  What's  been  the  matter  ?  " 

"Dimbie's  away." 

"Dear  me!"  she  said  with  comical  gravity, 
"Been  away  long?" 

"He  went  this  morning." 
126 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

She  laughed  outright. 

*'  What  did  you  have  for  lunch  ?  " 

"Fish." 

"What  sort  offish?' 

"A  whiting." 

She  sniffed. 

"A  cold,  thin  whiting  with  its  tail  in  its  mouth, 
devoid  of  any  taste  and  depressing  in  its  appcar- 
ance .'' 

"That  exactly  describes  it,"  I  said  laughingly. 

"  Did  you  eat  it  ?  " 

"  No,  Amelia  is  going  to  make  it  into  a  fish  pie  for 
to-morrow's  lunch." 

"Amelia  seems  to  be  of  an  economical  turn  of 
mind." 

"Painfully  so,"  I  agreed. 

Nanty  rose  and  rang  the  bell. 

"  Bring  tea  at  once,  please,"  she  said  when  Amelia 
appeared,  "  and  a  lightly -boiled  egg  for  your  mistress 
with  some  hot,  buttered  toast,  and  light  the  fire." 

Amelia's  eyes  bulged. 

"We've  been  doing  some  summer  cleaning,  the 
fire'll  make  dirt." 

"Light  the  fire  at  once,  please,  your  mistress  is 
cold,  the  dirt  is  of  no  importance;  her  comfort 
should  be  considered  before  anything  else." 

"  But  it's  summer " 

"  Matches ! "  said  Nanty  sternly,  and  Amelia  pro- 
duced a  box  like  lightning. 
127 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Nanty  knelt  down  and  removed  the  fire-screen^ 
Amelia  stood  and  watched  her. 

"That  is  not  getting  tea  and  toast,"  said  Nanty, 
without  looking  round. 

"  I'm    not    dressed,    mum "    began    Amelia 

argumentatively. 

"Tea  and  toast!"  thundered  Nanty,  and  Amelia 
fled. 

"  How  brave  you  are,"  I  said. 

She  laughed. 

"  I'm  certainly  not  going  to  be  bossed  by  a  young 
person  like  Amelia  Cockles.  How  does  she  suit 
you?" 

"  I've  never  thought  of  how  she  suits  us,  but  I 
think  we  suit  her,  although  we  are  not  grand  like 
the  Tompkinses." 

"Who  are  the  Tompkinses?"  asked  Nanty, 
settling  herself  comfortably  in  an  arm-chair. 

"  Don't  you  remember  the  people  she  lived  with 
before  she  came  to  us?  They  knew  a  poet,  and 
gave  dinner  parties  and  had  entrees  and  hors-d'oeuvres 
—  hoary  doves  she  calls  them." 

"  But  does  she  look  after  you  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  so  long  as  I  don't  interfere  with 
her  cleaning.  She  is  a  great  cleaner,  that  is  her 
weakest  point.  Economy  is  another;  she  is  too 
careful.  Because  I  told  her  we  were  not  rich  she 
seems  to  think  we  must  live  on  potato  parings. 
Then  she  wears  squeaky,  high-heeled  shoes,  a  pearl 
128 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

necklace,  and  puts  on  to  her  print  bodies  —  a.s  she 
calls  them  —  innumerable  patches.  Against  these 
bad  qualities  we  must  set  her  honesty,  early  rising, 
and  devotion  to  me.  She  has  taken  me  in  hand 
since  the  day  she  entered  the  house.  She  thinks, 
deep  down  in  her  heart,  that  I  am  one  of  the  poorest 
creatures  she  has  met.  She  has  compared  me  on 
different  occasions  to  a  love-lies-bleeding  and  a  black 
prize  Minorca  hen.  Yet  I  know  she  would  go 
through  fire  and  water  for  me.  She  dresses  me  in 
the  morning  with  a  gentleness  and  patience  unsur- 
passed by  any  nurse,  and  the  tenderness  with  which 
she  lifts  me  from  the  bed  to  the  couch  has  caused 
me  to  marvel.  You  ask  me  how  she  suits  us.  Now 
I  come  to  think  about  it,  I  wouldn't  be  without 
Amelia  Cockles  for  the  world." 

She  entered  as  I  finished  speaking,  and  placed 
the  tea-tray  in  front  of  me,  eyeing  Nanty  with  un- 
disguised hostility. 

Nanty  returned  the  look  with  placidity. 

"  I  s'pose  you  think  I  have  been  starving  her  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Nanty  cheerfully,  "I  am  sure  you 
would  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  Your  mistress  has 
just  been  telling  me  how  good  you  are  to  her." 

Amelia's  face  softened. 

"No  one  could  help  being  good  to  a  lady  like 
her  —  she  is  a  lady,"  and  she  flounced  out  of  the 
room. 

Nanty  smiled.  "You  cannot  be  very  dull  so 
129 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

long  as  that  young  person  is  in  the  house."  She 
pushed  my  couch  nearer  the  fire,  broke  the  top  off 
my  egg,  and  ordered  me  to  begin  to  eat. 

"It  is  lovely  having  you  here,"  I  said,  "I  was 
just  beginning  to  be  dull.  What  made  you  come 
this  wet  day?" 

"  Your  husband  wired  for  me." 

"  So  you  knew  he  was  away  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  returned,  "and  I  went  straight  away 
to  see  if  I  could  persuade  Peter  to  let  your  mother 
come  and  stay  with  you  during  your  husband's 
absence." 

"And "  I  cried. 

"Your  father  had  just  succeeded  in  getting  a 
canoe  to  float  on  the  duck-pond  —  personally  I 
think  it  was  on  the  bottom,  but  I  did  not  suggest 
that  —  and  in  the  flush  of  victory  he  said  she  could 
come  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Ah,  that's  better," 
she  finished  as  the  blood  rushed  into  my  cheeks. 
"You  looked  as  white  as  a  ghost  when  I  came 
in." 

"  You  are  clever,"  I  said. 

"Yes,"  she  agreed,  "in  some  things." 

A  smile  hovered  round  her  mouth. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  had  been  Peter's  wife " 

"God  forbid!"  she  broke  in. 

I  laughed. 

"It  will  be  delightful  having  mother.'* 

"Do  you  find  the  days  long.^" 
130 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"When  it's  wet." 

"Do  you  still  find  vent  for  your  happiness  in  the 
pages  of  a  manuscript  book?" 

I  nodded. 

She  looked  at  me  with  incredulous  eyes. 

"  You  still  find  your  year  —  what  was  it  you 
called  it  —  wonderful  .^ " 

"I  have  Dimbie." 

"And  an  aching  back." 

"That  would  be  worse  if  I  hadn't  Dimbie." 

"No  man  is  worth  such  love  from  a  woman." 

"Mine  is,"  I  said  indignantly. 

"  Well,  don't  flash  out  at  me  like  that.  He  must 
be  an  exception." 

"Of  course  he  is." 

"And  all  women  think  the  same  when  they  are 
first  married." 

"Nanty,  you  are  a  pessimist." 

"Optimists  are  tiresome  and  always  boring." 

"They  add  to  the  cheerfulness  of  the  world." 

"They  depress  me  and  always  put  me  in  a  bad 
temper.  You  say  it  is  horribly  cold,  and  they 
remind  you  that  frost  keeps  away  disease.  You  say 
it  is  windy,  and  they  reply  that  it  is  bracing.  You 
have  lost  your  pet  dog,  and  they  suggest  that  you 
might  have  lost  your  favourite  horse.  People  who 
always  say,  'Never  mind,  cheer  up!'  are  aggravating 
in  the  extreme.  I  like  people  to  weep  when  I  weep 
and  laugh  when  I  laugh.  I  don't  like  my  friends 
131 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

to  make  light  of  my  troubles  and  practically  suggest 
that  I  am  a  coward." 

She  poked  the  fire  with  vigour. 

"So  you  would  like  me  much  better  if  I  were  to 
howl  about  my  accident." 

"Exactly,  it  would  be  much  more  natural  and 
human." 

"But  what  about  Dimbie?" 

"Oh,  of  course  if  you  bring  Dimbie  into  every- 
thing it  will  be  impossible  for  you  to  behave  in  a 
rational  way." 

I  laughed  gently,  and  Nanty  frowned  at  the  fire. 

."If  I  were  to  howl  Dimbie's  year  would  be 
spoiled." 

"I  don't  beheve  in  wives  being  unselfish  to  their 
husbands;  it  spoils  them.  Men  are  quite  selfish 
enough  as  it  is." 

"How  down  upon  men  you  are,  Nanty.  Have 
you  not  met  any  nice  ones  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Dimbie  is  not  bad  as  men  go.  But  give  him 
a  few  years;  he  will  be  as  disagreeable  as  the  rest." 

"I  met  a  very  nice  man  the  other  day,"  I  said, 
refusing  to  be  annoyed.  "It  was  just  before  my 
accident  —  a  Professor  Leighrail." 

"Professor  Leighrail!"  A  great  astonishment 
lay  in  Nanty's  eyes.     "  A  very  thin  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  invited  us  to  look  at  his  ribs.  His  wife, 
Amabella,  is  dead." 

"Amabella  dead.'*"  she  repeated. 
132 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

I  nodded. 

"  He  took  up  ballooning,  as  he  thought  it  would  be 
the  quickest  way  of  ending  himself." 

Nanty  started,  and  then  poured  herself  out 
another  cup  of  tea. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"I  knew  him  some  years  ago." 

"He  once  asked  you  to  be  his  wife." 

Nanty  dropped  her  spoon  with  a  clatter. 

"Did  he  tell  you.^" 

"Of  course  not,"  I  laughed,  and  hugged  Jumbles 
who  lay  on  the  couch  beside  me.  "  I  knew  by  your 
face,  Nanty,  dear.     Why  didn't  you  accept  him  ? " 

"Because  I  was  a  fool."  She  spoke  bitterly. 
"I  should  have  been  happy  with  that  man.  As  it 
was,  he  —  grew  fond  of  Amabella.  Didn't  he  ? " 
She  turned  on  me  with  a  pounce. 

"I  —  I  think  so,"  I  stammered;  "but  I  don't 
suppose  he  ever  loved  her  as  much  as  he  loved  you. 
I  should  fancy  from  her  name  she  was  a  bit  —  pussy- 
catty." 

Nanty  smiled  a  little  grimly. 

"Men  like  domestic,  sit-by-the-hearth  women. 
I  feel  sure  Amabella  mended  his  socks  regularly 
and  brushed  his  clothes." 

"They  wanted  brushing  the  other  day,"  I  said 

reflectively,  "  and  his  boots  were  miles  too  big  for 

him  —  they  were  like  canoes."     And  I  went  on  to 

relate  where  we  had  met  him,  what  he  had  had  for 

133 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

his  dinner,  and  how  he  was  coming  to  call  upon  us 
in  his  balloon. 

"It  is  a  dangerous  game,"  said  Nanty  crossly  as 
she  rose  to  go. 

"  But  he  is  lonely  and  unhappy,"  I  protested. 

"So  are  lots  of  people,"  she  snapped.  "I  have 
been  lonely  for  twenty  years,  and  I  get  stouter  every 
day." 

"His  ribs  are  like  knife  blades,"  I  observed. 

"He  was  always  thin.  I  have  not  seen  him  since 
I  was  a  girl,  but  I  have  followed  his  career.  I  knew 
he  would  make  a  name  for  himself.  He  was  always 
dabbling  in  some  mess  —  ruined  his  mother's  bed- 
quilts  —  and  wore  badly-fitting  clothes.  It's  strange 
you  should  meet  him,"  she  finished  musingly. 

"  Would  you  hke  his  address  ?  "  I  asked  quietly. 

"  No,  I  wouldn't,  thanks,  but  —  I  shouldn't  mind 
meeting  him  here  some  day.  It  would  be  pleasant 
to  have  a  chat  about  old  times." 

"Rather  dangerous,  I  should  say." 

"You  always  were  an  impertinent  child,"  she 
said  as  she  stooped  to  kiss  me. 

The  love  affairs  of  my  friends  are  multiplpng,  I 
thought,  when  she  had  gone  —  Dr.  Renton's  and 
now  Nanty's. 


134 


CHAPTER  XIII 


UNDER  THE  APPLE  THEE 


I  AM  under  the  apple  tree  trying  to  be  busy.  In 
front  of  me  lies  a  waif  and  stray  garment  —  a 
flannel  petticoat.  There  is  no  house  mending  to 
do  —  everything  is  new  and  holeless.  Dimbie  had 
a  trousseau  as  well  as  I.  Occasionally  he  will  wear 
a  small  hole  in  one  of  his  socks,  the  mending  of 
which  v/ill  take  me  half  an  hour,  then  my  work  is 
finished.  So  I  have  taken  to  waif  and  stray  gar- 
ments and  deep-sea  fishermen's  knitting  in  self- 
defence. 

Were  I  not  engaged  on  this  I  should  be  making 
wool-work  mats  like  the  old  men  in  the  workhouse  — 
I  can  see  it  in  the  tail  of  Amelia's  eye;  so  I  keep  a 
garment  well  to  the  front,  ready  to  pick  up  at  the 
sound  of  her  first  footstep,  which,  being  squeaky, 
fortunately  warns  me  of  the  advance  of  the  enemy. 

Now  but  for  Amelia  I  should  be  only  too  content 
to  laze  through  the  summer  —  just  staring  at  the 
sky  and  the  soft,  white,  fleecy  clouds  through  the 
breaks  in  the  foliage  of  the  apple  tree;  for  though  I 
do  nothing  I  am  tired,  always  tired.  Perhaps  it  is 
135 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

the  warmth  of  the  summer,  for  the  rain  and  cold 
are  gone.  By  and  by  I  am  going  to  be  very  energetic, 
and  do  Httle  tilings  for  Ameha,  whether  she  con- 
siders it  helpful  or  otherwise.  I  shall  peel  apples 
in  the  autumn  when  the  weather  is  cooler,  and  stone 
the  plums  for  jam,  and  skin  the  mushrooms.  But 
now  I  want  to  be  idle.  I  just  w^ant  to  watch  the 
bird  and  insect  life  of  the  garden. 

Much  to  my  delight,  a  colony  of  ants  has  settled 
at  the  base  of  the  apple  tree.  I  get  Amelia  to  wheel 
the  couch  close  to  their  head-quarters,  and  I  lean 
over  and  gently  drop  little  things  in  front  of  the 
openings  to  their  tunnels.  Sometimes  a  tiny  bit  of 
twig  lies  across  their  front  door,  or  a  cherry-stone 
bars  the  cellar  entrance;  and  then  what  excitement 
and  confusion  reign,  what  a  twinkling  of  a  mjnriad 
tiny  legs!  Nine  strong,  able-bodied  men  are  requi- 
sitioned to  tackle  the  cherry-stone.  I  smile  and 
chuckle  as  I  picture  one  excited  ant  —  who  is  not 
eager  to  tell  the  news  ?  —  rushing  off  to  inform  the 
others  that  he  has  discovered  a  thunderbolt  lying 
at  their  cellar-door,  and  they  must  marshal  their 
forces  for  an  attack.  And  then  what  a  straining  and 
pushing  and  levering  there  is!  First  six  men  arrive; 
they  look  like  policemen.  Presently  one  rushes  away 
and  brings  back  three  more.  They  then  sort  of 
take  their  bearings,  trotting  in  and  out  of  the 
front  door  and  eyeing  with  indignation  the  obstacle 
that  lies  in  their  path. 

136 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Hurrah!"  I  cry  as  they  lever  the  cherry-stone 
the  fraction  of  an  inch;  and  Ameha,  appearing  at 
the  front  door,  says  — 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  mum." 

Amelia  certainly  has  a  most  tiresome  habit  of 
cropping  up  at  the  tense  moments  of  Hfe.  Should  I 
call,  gently  at  first,  "A-me-li-a,"  and  then  louder, 
"  A-ME-Li-A ! "  and  then  in  stentorian  tones, 
"A-ME-LI-A!"  finally  degenerating  into  cat-calls 
and  war-whoops,  she  wouldn't  dream  of  hearing 
me ;  but  when  I  apostrophise  the  thrush  which  comes 
to  sing  in  the  apple  tree  of  an  evening,  or  encourage 
the  ants  in  their  labours,  or  laugh  at  the  ridiculous 
wagtails  bobbing  up  and  down  the  lawn,  she  appears 
suddenly  and  stands  and  stares  at  me. 

Just  now  I  said,  "You  shouldn't  stare  at  me"; 
and  when  she  replied,  "  You're  so  pretty,  mum,"  I 
felt  hers  was  the  gentleness  of  the  dove  and  the 
cunning  of  the  serpent  combined. 

I  had  been  trying  to  persuade  her  not  to  whiten 
the  front-door  step,  which  is  of  cool  grey  stone. 
She  appears  to  regard  it  in  the  same  light  as  a 
kitchen-hearth  bestowed  by  a  bountiful  Providence. 
She  smears  it  with  wet  donkey-stone,  and  when  dry 
it  gleams  and  scintillates  in  the  hot  sun  with  dazzling 
intensity.  Then  she  attacks  the  scraper,  which  she 
polishes  with  a  black-lead  brush  till  it  resembles  the 
kitchen  kettle  after  "siding  up."  You  cannot 
prevent  Amelia  from  "  siding  up."  Every  now  and 
137 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

again  she  "sides  up"  me.  She  says  my  hair  is 
untidy  and  approaches  me  with  a  brush.  She  sug- 
gests that  the  wearing  of  a  pearl  necklace  round 
my  throat,  the  collar  of  which  is  cut  low  for  comfort, 
would  smarten  me  up.  She  picks  up  my  slippers, 
which  I  have  kicked  on  to  the  grass,  and  compels 
me  to  put  them  on  in  case  I  have  callers. 

She  constantly  threatens  me  with  these  callers. 
She  dangles  them  in  front  of  me  when  I  am  idling 
with  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  and  offers  to  bring  me 
my  best  hat,  as  "  that  Liberty  garden  thing  is  shabby 
and  old-fashioned."  She  tiiinks  the  vicar  may  call. 
He  has  been  laid  up  for  some  weeks;  but  he  is 
better,  and  it  is  liis  bounded  duty  to  call  to  see  a 
poor  sick  lady. 

I  gently  bring  her  back  to  the  discussion  of  the 
step,  and  after  some  stubbornness  on  her  part  she 
asks  if  I  would  like  it  done  like  the  Tompkinses'. 
Knowing  that  the  Tompkinses  are  superior  people, 
indulging  in  "hoary  doves"  at  their  dinner,  I  say 
"  Yes  "  without  any  further  parley,  trusting  to  their 
good  taste. 

Mother  is  coming  to-morrow,  and  I  know  just 
how  she  is  feeling  about  me.  She  will  be  thinking 
if  ever  her  daughter  Marguei'ite  wanted  her  it  will 
be  now  —  now,  when  she  is  lonely  and  tired  and 
without  Dimbie.  Her  dear  face  will  be  brimful  of 
joy  at  being  wanted  by  anyone,  and  at  the  prospect 
of  getting  away  from  Peter.  She  would  not  own 
138 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

up  to  the  last.  If  ever  there  was  a  loyal,  patient 
soul  in  this  world  it  is  mother.  She  won't  allow 
herself  to  believe  that  Peter  is  selfish  and  domineer- 
ing. He  is  her  husband,  and  with  a  wavering  curve 
of  her  sweet  lips  she  pronounces  him  as  just  tire- 
some. 

And,  best  of  all,  I  know  she  will  like  being  here 
without  Dimbie.  She  likes  him,  she  admires  him, 
but  she  is  secretly  jealous  of  him.  I  believe  I  should 
be  too  if  I  had  a  daughter  married.  When  a  child 
gives  lierself  into  somebody  else's  keeping  the 
mother  is  dethroned;  the  child  —  always  a  child  in 
the  mother's  eyes  —  takes  her  joys  and  sorrows  to 
her  husband.  He  bandages  the  little  cut  leg,  figura- 
tively speaking,  kisses  the  crushed  fingers,  wipes 
away  the  tears  of  sorrow.  The  mother  has  to  take 
a  back  seat,  and  her  heart  is  sore.  When  Dimbie 
and  I,  in  the  short  days  of  our  engagement,  would 
try  to  slip  away  to  another  room  to  be  by  ourselves, 
I  have  seen  mother  close  her  eyes  and  heard  her 
give  a  little  gasping  sigh.  She  would  smile  bravely 
when  her  eyes  caught  mine,  but  I  had  heard  the 
sigh,  and  though  my  heart  ached  at  the  thought  of 
leaving  her  alone  with  Peter,  I  was  unable  to  keep 
the  happiness  away  from  my  own  eyes  and  voice. 
Poor  little  mother!  It  is  hard,  but  it  was  ever 
thus.  You  left  your  mother,  and  I  in  turn  have 
left  you.  It  is  one  of  Nature's  edicts  —  cruel  it 
may  seem,  but  not  to  be  resisted.  Were  Dimbie 
139 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

to  call,  I  should  follow  him  to  the  end  of  the  world, 
I  know. 

But  during  the  days  mother  is  with  me  I  mean  to 
let  her  have  it  all  her  own  way.  I  shall  pretend 
that  Dimbie  is  dethroned.  I  shall  not  talk  of  him; 
at  least,  I  shall  try  with  unusual  strength  not  to 
speak  of  him,  beyond  mentioning  the  bare  fact  that 
he  is  well  and  ministering  to  the  wants  of  Aunt 
Letitia. 

And  we  shall  also  not  talk  of  Peter  more  than  we 
can  possibly  help.  Long  ago  we  decided  that  Peter 
must  be  a  tabooed  subject  between  us. 

"We  might  be  led  into  saying  things  about  your 
father  which  we  ought  not  to  say,"  mother  had 
impUed  without  putting  it  into  so  many  words,  and 
I  had  nodded. 

"  Besides,  he  might  —  he  might  have  been  so 
much  worse." 

I  fear  I  looked  doubtful  about  this  point,  for  she 
added  quickly,  "He  doesn't  steal." 

"No,"  I  admitted,  "he  is  certainly  not  a  thief." 

"And  he  doesn't  drink." 

"No." 

"And  he  doesn't  gamble." 

"  No,"  I  conceded  somewhat  grudgingly. 

"  And "  she  hesitated. 

"He  doesn't  go  off  with  other  men's  wives,  you 
want  to  say." 

"That's  it.     Your  father  is  —  is  quite  moral." 
140 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  It's  a  pity  he  is,"  I  said  laughing.  '*  If  only 
he  would  run  away  with  someone  you  could  get  a 
divorce." 

Dear  mother  looked  terribly  shocked,  and  glanced 
fearfully  at  the  door. 

"It's  all  right,"  I  reassured  her;  "he's  resting  in 
the  library,  overcome  by  your  insubordination.  He's 
not  used  to  it.  He  lunged  at  me  with  his  stick 
because  he  detected  me  in  a  smile,  but  I  dodged 
him." 

I  remember  mother  smiled  faintly,  and  told  me 
I  ought  not  to  dodge  him.  This  conversation  took 
place  after  an  unusually  violent  outburst  on  Peter's 
part  because  he  had  lost  his  best  gold  collar  stud, 
which  he  accused  mother  of  having  taken.  And 
when  she  tremblingly  said  that  she  had  never  in 
her  life  worn  anything  around  her  neck  but  a  lace 
tucker,  which  did  not  necessitate  the  wearing  of  a 
gold  stud,  he  said  lace  tuckers  were  foolish  frip- 
peries, and  that  she  ought  to  wear  a  linen  collar  the 
same  as  other  sensible  women.  And  when  mother 
protested  that  her  neck  was  not  long  enough,  he 
replied  snappily:  "Then  stretch  it  till  it  is.  You 
are  a  woman  without  any  resources." 

I  smile  as  I  conjure  up  dear  mother's  expression 
of  countenance  when  he  said  this.  She  usually, 
with  unquestioning  obedience  to  Biblical  commands, 
turned  her  other  cheek  to  him  for  a  smite,  but  on 
this  occasion  she  didn't  do  anything  of  the  kind. 
141 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

She  simply  turned  her  back  on  him,  drew  herself  up 
to  her  full  height  of  five  feet  nothing,  and  pranced 
out  of  the  room.  I  say  pranced,  because  she  did 
prance,  just  like  a  thoroughbred  horse  chafing  at  the 
bearing  rein.  Peter  watched  this  prancing  with  un- 
concealed astonishment;  in  fact,  he  put  up  his 
monocle  and  stared  at  the  closed  door.  Now  if 
mother  had  only  pranced  a  little  oftener,  Peter  might 
have  been  a  much  better  behaved  person.  But 
mother  is  not  of  the  stuff  of  which  people  like 
Amelia  and  Napoleon  are  composed.  She  is  not  a 
ruler,  and  she  is  not  a  fighter.  She  cannot  stand 
up  for  herself,  and  so  Peter  has  taken  advantage  of 
her  sitting  position  —  which  sounds  as  though  I 
were  referring  to  a  hen,  and  not  to  mother  at  all. 

I  find  on  turning  back  the  pages  that  I  said 
mother  was  rarely  disloyal  to  Peter,  that  she  pro- 
nounced his  selfishness  and  bad  temper  as  "just 
tiresomeness."  Still,  the  worm  will  turn  sometimes, 
and  on  this  occasion  she  did  turn.  To-morrow  she 
will  probably  ignore  him  altogetlier  —  glad  to  get 
away  from  an  unpleasant  subject. 

I  am  full  of  delightful  anticipations  of  the  peaceful 
time  she  and  I  will  spend  together  under  the  apple 
tree.  At  first  she  will  lean  forward  when  I  speak  to 
her  as  though  she  had  been  deafened  by  a  storm. 
To  live  vv'ith  Peter  is  to  live  in  a  succession  of  storms, 
and  when  mother  reaches  the  calmer  spaces  of  the 
world  she  wears  an  almost  dazed  expression.  I 
142 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

must  speak  very  slowly  and  gently  till  she  becomes 
accustomed  to  being  in  a  quiet  haven.  We  will  chat 
in  the  mornings  and  doze  in  the  warm  afternoons 
and  discuss  AmeHa  in  the  evenings.  I  know  I  shall 
be  unable  to  resist  discussing  Amelia  with  mother. 
She  will  be  so  interested  in  her  not  wearing  cloth 
boots.  She  will  be  so  surprised  at  my  having  given 
in.  She  gives  in  herself  over  eveiy  question  in  hfe, 
great  or  small.  But  she  is  quite  surprised  if  other 
people  do  the  same,  especially  her  own  daughter. 
She  imagines  I  have  inherited  some  of  Peter's  char- 
acteristics, which  Heaven  forbid.  She  thinks  his 
]3ullying  is  strength  of  character.  Ah,  little  mother, 
I  am  not  strong,  if  you  only  knew  it.  I  am  as 
weak  as  water  towards  people  I  love.  You,  Dimbie 
and  Nanty  could  do  anything  with  me. 

Amelia  has  been  to  tell  me  that  we  are  out  of 
Shinio,  and  shall  she  run  to  the  village.  She  didn't 
call  it  Sh.inio,  but  Shiny.  She  has  quite  an  extraor- 
dinary affection  for  the  evil-smelling  stuff,  and  is 
always  "requiring"  it. 

"  But  you  v/on't  be  cleaning  anything  this  after- 
noon," I  said.  "  You  are  dressed,  and  it  must  be 
nearly  five  o'clock." 

"  It's  for  the  brasses  to-morrow  morning,"  she 
answered  in  a  tired  voice,  as  though  she  were  weary 
of  explaining  things  to  me.  "  It's  kitchen-day,  and 
I  do  my  steels  and  brasses  before  breakfast." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  I  murmured  hastily  while  looking 
143 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

for  my  purse,  which  I  can  never  find,  and  which 
she  unearthed  with  lightning  rapidity  from  under 
the  tortoise. 

I  handed  her  sixpence,  but  she  didn't  go. 

"Anything  further.^"  I  asked  pleasantly. 

"No,  mum;  but  I  was  just  considerin'  if  we 
couldn't  alter  your  pocket  —  put  it  in  front  of  your 
tea-gown,  a  sort  of  flap-pocket  right-hand  side,  hke 
motorists  and  golfists  and  cyclists  has." 

"Put  a  flap-pocket  on  my  right-hand  side,"  I 
repeated.     "But  I  don't  motor  or  golf  or  cycle." 

"No,  mum,  but  it  might  help  you  not  to  lose 
your  purse  so  frequently,  and  save  you  and  me  a 
lot  of  trouble.  I  expect  you  lies  on  your  pocket 
mostly  ?  " 

"  I  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  I  replied  coldly,  "  for 
I  haven't  got  one." 

"There!"  she  said  triumphantly,  "I  might  have 
knowed  it.  I'll  fix  you  one  up  in  two  shakes.  I'm 
a  good  hand  at  sewing.  Have  you  a  bit  of  white 
serge  like  your  gown,  mum.'" 

"No,  I  haven't;  and  I  forbid  your  putting  a 
pocket  on  me  anywhere." 

She  looked  surprised  at  my  warmth. 

"All  right,  mum;  I  won't  if  you  don't  wish  it.  I 
only  thought  it  would  save  time.  You  see,  when 
the  purse  isn't  lost  the  tortis  is.  The  tortis  is  a 
beggar  for  gettin'  away.  See  now,  it's  slippin'  down 
the  Hilkley  at  this  minute."  She  caught  it  by  the 
144 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

tail  and  placed  it  on  the  little  table  which  always 
stands  at  the  side  of  my  couch.  "The  creature 
might  be  alive,"  she  finished,  shaking  her  fist  at  it. 

"'Don't  be  ridiculous,  Amelia,"  I  commanded, 
endeavouring  not  to  laugh.  "  I  will  try  and  not  lose 
it  so  often,  but  things  do  disappear." 

"Yes,  mum,  they  do,"  she  responded  gravely. 
"If  nothing  was  ever  lost,  like  hair-pins,  the  world 
wouldn't  hold  'em."  With  which  oracular  remark 
she  swept  down  the  garden  path  to  the  gate,  her 
two  heels  leaning  over  at  a  more  dangerous  angle 
than  usual. 

I  drew  Dimbie's  letter  —  he  writes  every  day, 
sometimes  twice  —  from  beneath  the  cushions,  and 
read  it  over  for  —  well,  I  won't  say  how  many  times, 
but  one  passage  I  already  knew  off  by  heart :  — 

"  Dear  one,  I  am  glad  that  you  miss  me  —  very 
glad,  isn't  that  cruel .'  If  you  want  me,  how  much 
more  do  I  want  you,  my  poor  little  girl.  I  long  to 
put  my  arms  round  you  and  kiss  your  big,  vristful 
eyes  —  kiss  away  the  wistfulness,  which  only  came 
%\ath  your  suffering,  and  I  will  do  it  when  I  come 
home. 

"  Aunt  Letitia  is  slowly  sinking.  She  is  not  suffer- 
ing, and  her  mind  is  quite  clear.  She  has  asked  a 
great  many  questions  about  you,  and  has  even 
laughed  feebly  at  Amelia  and  her  household  arrange- 
ments —  I  mean  your  household  arrangements. 
For  the  squeaking  and  cracking  of  bones  and  wear- 
145 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

ing  of  unsuitable  slippers  she  has  no  suggestions  to 
oflFer.  She  says  there  is  always  something.  With 
old  Ann  it  has  been  a  misfit  in  artificial  teeth.  They 
have  moved  horribly,  and  the  gums  have  gaped  at 
her,  but  she  has  not  considered  this  of  sufficient  im- 
portance to  give  Ann  notice. 

"I  wired  to  Nanty  to  know  how  you  were.  You 
don't  tell  me  in  your  lettei's,  bad  girl.  I  shall  scold 
and  slap  you  when  I  get  home,  as  well  as  kiss  you." 

I  glanced  carefully  round  to  see  that  neither 
Amelia  nor  Jumbles  were  watching  me,  and  holding 
the  letter  to  my  lips,  I  kissed  it  over  and  over  again. 


146 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MOTHER  AND  PETER  ARRIVE  ON  A  VISIT 

I  SAID  that  mother  and  I  were  going  to  have  a 
peaceful  and  happy  time  together  —  that  we 
should  chat  in  the  mornings,  doze  in  the  afternoons, 
and  discuss  Amelia  in  the  evenings.  We  are  doing 
none  of  these  things.  We  are  expending  our  entire 
energies,  and  mine  are  very  feeble,  in  soothing  Peter 
and  trying  to  keep  him  in  a  good  temper,  for  Peter 
arrived  with  mother  a  couple  of  days  ago  on  a  visit 
to  One  Tree  Cottage. 

I  IV  ill  say  that  it  wasn't  dear  mother's  fault.  She 
even  stooped  to  equivocation,  or,  to  put  it  plainly, 
lying  to  keep  him  away.  She  told  him  that  she 
didn't  know  by  which  train  she  was  coming,  when 
she  knew  perfectly  well.  She  told  him  our  spare- 
room  bed  would  only  hold  one.  Oh,  mother!  And 
she  told  him  that  there  had  been  burglaries  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Dorking,  and  it  would  be  unsafe 
to  leave  the  house  to  servants.  To  all  of  which  he 
said,  "Pooh!" 

From  what  I  can  gather  he  lay  in  waiting  at  the 
station  like  a  detective  in  plain  clothes,  and 
147 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

pounced  upon  mother  just  as  she  was  saying  to 
Mary,  the  parlourmaid,  "Good-bye;  you  will  take 
great  care  of  the  master,  and  give  him  kidneys  with 
his  bacon  twice  a  week." 

"  No,  she  won't,"  he  said  sardonically  as  he  limped 
into  the  carriage,  "for  she  won't  get  the  chance.  I 
am  coming  with  you,  Emma.  I  refuse  to  be  left  to 
the  mercy  of  servants  when  my  gout  is  so  trouble- 
some. It  is  most  selfish  and  unreasonable  of  you 
to  suggest  such  a  thing.  I  am  as  much  to  be  con- 
sidered as  JNIarguerite,"  at  which  he  planked  him- 
self firmly  on  to  the  seat  opposite  to  mother  and 
glowered  at  her. 

At  the  moment  he  is  seated  in  the  sun  with  his 
feet  on  Amelia's  fair  white  step,  which  is  now  covered 
with  a  sort  of  Egyptian  hieroglyphic  —  a  la  the 
Tompkinses'.  When  she  wheeled  me  in  the  other 
evening  after  a  long  day  in  the  garden,  and  I  caught 
sight  of  the  step,  I  was  filled  with  a  great  amaze- 
ment, for  I  was  unaware  that  Amelia  understood  the 
ancient  Egyptian  language.  A  series  of  cur\'es  and 
dots,  and  flourishes  and  symbolic  signs  met  my 
gaze.  I  leaned  forward  and  translated  with  fluency: 
WWW  — ^  a  water-line,  0  —  the  sun,  ^  —  a  reed, 
^  j^r>>  —  night,  f^^^  —  hilly  country,  O  —  ^gg- 
Father  was  a  bit  of  an  Egyptologist,  and  I  had  picked 
up  the  meaning  of  a  few  of  the  symbols  from  him: 
"^  —  star,    V  —  tooth,    1^^  —  serpent. 

Amelia  opened  her  mouth  and  stared  at  me,  and 
148 


Dirnbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

then  shot  me  into  the  house.  It  is  on  such  occa- 
sions that  she  regards  me  as  "dotty,"  and  quickly 
puts  me  to  bed. 

Peter  is  now  scraping  his  boots  on  the  step  after 
carefully  dirtying  them  in  the  gooseberry-bed. 
Amelia  is  liissing  at  him  through  the  front  door; 
she  objects  to  her  hieroglyphics  being  defaced. 
Peter  is  not  accustomed  to  being  hissed  at,  and  he 
will  presently  come  and  tell  me  what  he  thinks  of 
Amelia. 

I  persuaded  mother  a  little  time  back  to  wheel  me 
under  the  apple  tree  and  sit  with  me.  The  grass  is 
still  dew-laden,  and  Peter  will  not  dare,  on  account 
of  his  gout,  to  join  us  till  the  lawn  is  dry,  hence  his 
position  on  the  doorstep.  Peter's  gout  has  been 
the  one  bit  of  luck  in  mother's  life  since  she  was 
married.  Being  the  more  active  of  the  two,  she  can, 
when  the  pressure  becomes  very  great,  walk  away 
from  him  —  in  fact,  run. 

I  cannot  help  rejoicing  at  Dimbie's  being  away 
while  Peter  is  here,  for  I  am  convinced  that  long  ere 
this  Dimbie  would  have  thrown  my  father  out  of  the 
house;  and  for  mother's  sake  I  should  not  care  for 
such  an  ignominious  thing  to  happen  to  her  husband. 
Besides,  he  would  make  such  a  mess  on  the  step 
wliile  he  danced  about,  his  customary  habit  being, 
when  extra  annoyed,  to  dance  a  kind  of  war  dance. 

When  he  and  mother  arrived  Amelia  rushed  into 
the  drawing-room  and  in  great  excitement  whis- 
149 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

pered,    "A    red-nosed   gent   has   come   with    your 
mother ! " 

In  an  instant  my  mind  flew  to  Peter,  but  I  re- 
mained sufficiently  controlled  to  correct  Amelia  for 
saying  "Your  mother." 

"  Is  she  your  step,  mum  ? "  she  murmured  cau- 
tiously. 

"Certainly  not,"  I  said.  "But  it  is  not  polite. 
You  must  speak  of  her  as  Mrs.  Macintosh.  Where 
have  you  left  them  ?     Why  don't  they  come  in  ?  " 

"The  gentleman  is  having  a  row  with  the  cabby. 
Don't  you  hear  him  ?  "  She  grinned  with  enjoyment. 
"He  has  just  called  the  cabby  a  grasping,  white- 
livered  Jew.  It  seems  as  though  he  knowed  how  to 
take  care  of  himself." 

I  did  not  speak. 

"Who  is  he,  mum?" 

I  pretended  not  to  hear. 

"  Is  he  your  uncle  ?  " 

"  He's  —  my  father."  I  closed  my  eyes,  signifying 
that  the  conversation  was  finished. 

"  Never  knew  you  had  a  father,  mum,"  came  in  a 
succession  of  gasps  and  squeaks. 

"  Of  course  I  have  a  father,"  I  said  excessively 
crossly.  "How  do  you  suppose  I  came  into  the 
world.  Kindly  show  them  in  here  and  go  and 
unstrap  the  luggage." 

When  they  appeared,  and  I  had  embraced  them 
both,  giving  mother  an  extra  squeeze,  I  said  — 

150 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  Dear  father,  whatever  has  been  the  matter  ?  " 

"  That  impudent  shark  has  been  trying  to  rob  me," 
he  repUed,  picking  up  a  vase  from  the  mantelshelf 
and  returning  it  with  a  bang. 

"  What  did  he  charge  you  ?  " 

"Two  shillings." 

"  Well,  that  is  the  right  fare,  and  Dimbie  gives  an 
extra  sixpence  if  he  has  a  portmanteau.  What  did 
you  give  him  for  the  luggage .?" 

"A  piece  of  my  mind,  and  threatened  him  with 
the  pohce  for  his  impudence." 

"Oh,  father,"  I  cried,  "I  am  sorry  you  have 
made  a  disturbance.  Up  to  now  we  —  Dimbie  and 
I  —  have  been  respected  in  the  village." 

"Have  you  been  to  church?"  He  smiled  sar- 
donically. 

"N— o." 

"  Who  respects  you  —  the  vicar  ?  " 

"  The  \'illagers  have  a  great  respect  for  us.  I  — • 
I  am  sure  they  have." 

"That's  all  right.  They'll  respect  your  father 
now.  They'll  know  I'm  a  man  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  How  are  you  ?  "  He  shot  this  last  at  me  as 
though  he  were  at  Bisley  competing  for  the  King's 
Prize. 

"  I'm  pretty  well,  thank  you." 

"  Well,  you  don't  look  it.     You're  as  thin  as  a  rat. 
But  it's  rather  improved  you  than  otherwise,  made 
you  look  less  defiant  and  assertive." 
151 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  Oh,  Peter,"  mother  broke  m,  "Marguerite  never 
looked  assertive.  I  remember  Dimbie  saying  to  me 
that  he  had  never  seen  a  sweeter  face." 

"  Of  course,  that  is  exactly  the  sort  of  thing  Dum- 
barton would  say,"  he  jeered; "  but  then  Dumbarton's 
an  ass." 

"Look  here,  father,"  I  said  steadily,  "once  and 
for  all  I  wish  you  to  remember  that  I  will  not  allow 
you  to  call  my  husband  an  ass.  Yes,  allow,  I 
repeat  the  word."  I  shivered  all  over  as  I  spoke. 
Never,  never  had  I  dared  to  speak  to  Peter  in  such 
a  manner,  but  my  blood  was  up.  "Dimbie  was  a 
brave  man  to  have  married  into  such  a  family.  His 
courage  was  immense  there."  I  clutched  the  tor- 
toise as  I  spoke  —  clutched  it  for  support,  but  I 
kept  my  head  well  up,  looking  at  liim  defiantly  and 
waiting  for  the  storm. 

But  it  never  burst.  To  my  everlasting  astonish- 
ment Peter  remained  mute  and  just  stared  at  me, 
stared  at  me  for  a  full  minute,  then  putting  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  he  said,  "Well,  well!"  and  stumped 
out  of  the  room. 

"There!"  I  said,  "that  is  the  way  you  should 
have  treated  Peter  —  always.'' 

But  mother  sat  with  her  hands  locked  and 
remained  speechless  for  some  seconds. 

"  How  dared  you  do  it  ?  "  she  breathed  at  length. 

"  Oh,  it  v/as  quite  easy,"  I  replied  airily. 

"Was  it?" 

152 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  Well,  perhaps  not  quite  easy,"  I  corrected  myself, 
"but  fairly  easy  when  you  once  get  started." 

"I  never  dare  start,"  she  said  plaintively.  "As 
soon  as  I  open  my  mouth  I " 

"Shut  it  again,"  I  said.  "But  don't  in  future, 
keep  it  well  open.  Begin  to-night,  and  I'll  help  you. 
Make  a  firm  stand  like  Horatius." 

"What  did  he  do.''"  she  asked  with  interest. 

"He  stood  alone  and  —  and  looked  after  a  gate." 

"  Oh,  I  could  do  that.  If  your  father  were  a 
gate "  she  begaA  eagerly. 

"What  would  you  do?"  inquired  Peter,  walking 
into  the  room  and  surveying  her  from  head  to 
foot. 

"I  —  I "  she  stammered. 

"  Don't  forget  Horatius,"  I  signalled. 

"I  —  I  should  sit  on  you ! "  With  which  terrific 
exhibition  of  courage  she  took  to  her  heels  and 
fled. 

"I  mustn't  laugh,"  I  told  myself,  "or  everything 
will  be  spoiled." 

Peter  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  staring  at 
the  closed  door. 

"  I  believe  your  mother  is  trying  to  be  funny,"  he 
remarked  when  he  had  got  his  breath. 

"Mother  is  often  funny,"  I  murmured. 

"  I  have  noticed  she  has  been  a  bit  strange  lately." 

"Oh.?" 

"Very  secretive.'* 

1.53 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Indeed?" 

"In  fact,  deceitful." 

"Mother  deceitful?" 

"Yes,  said  she  didn't  know  what  train  she  was 
coming  by."     He  was  beginning  to  raise  his  voice. 

"  Trains  don't  always  start  at  the  time  mentioned 
in  Bradshaw.     Look  at  the  South  Eastern." 

"This  was  the  South  Western,"  he  snapped.  "I 
must  sive  her  a  dose  of  medicine." 

"A  dose  of  medicine!"  I  repeated  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  calomel.  It's  her  liver,  I  expect.  She  has 
been  like  this  before.  How  soon  will  dinner  be 
ready  ?  " 

"  When  Amelia  feels  inclined  to  give  it  to  us." 

"  Is  Amelia  the  forward  yoking  person  with  the 
pearl  necklace  who  came  to  the  door?" 

"That  is  an  excellent  description  of  Amelia,  but 
I  thought  you  had  seen  her  before." 

"  And  does  she  arrange  the  hour  you  are  to  dine  ?  " 

"  She  arranges  the  hour  in  which  the  potatoes  are 
dried,  the  meat  dished,  the  gravy  made,  and  the 
cabbage  chopped.  You  see,  as  she  does  it  all,  she 
naturally  knows  when  it  will  be  ready." 

"  God  bless  my  soul ! "  he  ejaculated. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  ran  your  servants  in  such  a 
shocking  manner." 

"Servant,"  I  corrected;  "and  I  don't  run  her, 
she  runs  me." 

154 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*'  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it." 

*'  You  would  if  you  had  an  Amelia." 

"I'd  sack  her." 

"She  wouldn't  go  if  I  did." 

"  I'd  lock  her  out." 

"She'd  break  a  window  and  climb  through  it." 

He  began  to  march  about  the  room. 

"  I'd  manage  that  girl  in  ten  minutes." 

"She  would  hold  you  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand 
in  less  than  five,"  I  said. 

He  spluttered. 

"  What  do  you  take  me  for  } " 

"I  never  know.  I've  often  thought  about  it,"  I 
said  gently. 

He  stopped  marching  and  stared  at  me. 

"  I  wonder  what  mother  is  doing,"  I  said,  averting 
my  eyes. 

"Your  mother,"  he  shouted,  rushing  towards  the 
door,  "  is  the  slowest  woman  on  God's  earth.  She'll 
be  doing  her  hair.  Vll  bring  her  down."  And  he 
went  to  take  out  of  her  what,  by  right,  he  should 
have  taken  out  of  me. 

"Poor  mother!"  I  sighed. 

I  much  fear  we  are  going  to  have  ructions  —  Peter 
and  I.  A  strange  and  tremendous  courage  has  come 
to  me.  Is  it  that  I  know  I  shall  have  a  staunch  ally 
in  Amelia  ?  One  Amelia  is  surely  worth  two  Peters. 
And  yet  I  don't  know.  Peter  has  been  accustomed 
to  fighting  and  bloodshed,  and  managing  his  men 

155 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

and  out-manoeuvring  the  enemy  most  of  his  life;  and 
Ameha  is  only  used  to  managing  her  mistresses 
and  charwomen.  As  a  tactician  Amelia  may  be 
weak.  One  cannot  tell.  I  am  hoping  for  the 
best. 


156 


CHAPTER   XV 

AMELIA   GIVES   ME  NOTICE 

IT  is  said  that  the  young  look  forward  and  the 
old  look  backward.  I  am  still  young  enough, 
I  suppose,  to  live  chiefly  in  the  future  —  a  beautiful 
future,  with  Dimbie  ever  as  the  central  figure.  But 
should  I  live  to  be  an  old  woman,  and  send  my 
thoughts  backward  through  the  years,  a  smile  will 
rise  to  my  lips  unbidden  at  the  memory  of  a  certain 
dinner  at  which  Peter  and  Amelia  played  prominent 
parts. 

I  have  to  put  down  my  manuscript  book  for  a 
moment  while  I  laugh.  Amelia  is,  I  know,  watching 
me  through  the  pantry  window.  She  will  be  con- 
sidering that  this  is  one  of  my  "dotty"  moments. 
For  anyone  to  lie  under  an  apple  tree  and  apparently 
laugh  at  nothing  at  all  is  to  Amelia  a  strange  and 
sad  sight. 

Wait  a  while,  Amelia,  you  may  see  stranger  things 

yet.     Life  contains  infinite  possibilities  for  those  who 

have  even  the  smallest  sense  of  humour.     At  present 

that  sense  with  you  is  lacking.     Let  us  hope  that  it 

157 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

is  not  altogether  void,   but  in   an   embryo   stage 
waiting  for  development. 

To  you  the  dinner  last  evening  was  not  in  the 
least  amusing.  In  fact,  the  tears  you  shed  later  on 
were  very  bitter.  Of  course,  lookers-on  always  see 
most  of  the  game,  and  had  I  been  in  your  place  I 
admit  I  should  have  been  very  angry;  for  Peter  is 
capable  of  arousing  in  the  human  breast  passions 
which  are  anything  but  Christian. 

Let  me  relate  the  story  as  it  sounded  to  my  ears 
from  the  drawing-room.  It  is  a  source  of  regret 
to  me  that  I  cannot  be  present  at  meals,  for  the 
bicycle-room  is  not  large  enough  to  hold  both  the 
dining-table  and  my  Ilkley  couch.  Still,  with  both 
doors  set  wide  apart  I  can  hear  most  of  what  is 
going  on. 

Peter's  voice  carried  better  than  Ameha's;  he  is 
used  to  drilling.  Mother's  sounded  like  punctua- 
tion marks  —  notes  of  exclamation  and  interroga- 
tion, gentle  little  apostrophes,  and  full  stops.  But 
Peter  was  not  to  be  stopped.  Tliis  is  how  he  began 
to  annoy  Amelia :  — 

"What's  this.?"     A  stab  of  a  fork. 

"  Don't  you  know,  sir  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't." 

"  Not  seen  lamb  before  ?  " 

"  Do  you  call  this  burnt  cinder  Iamb .'' " 

Mother,    gently,    "I    think    it    looks    beautifully 
cooked,  just  nicely  browned." 
158 


OTTO   X.AN'Ci  «. 


This  is  how  he  beg^vn 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Of  course  you  do.  You  can  eat  anything. 
Some  people  have  the  digestion  of  an  ostrich." 

AmeUa,  breaking  in,  "Please  don't  carve  it  that 
way,  sir.  We  eats  the  bottom  side  first  —  that  was 
Tompkinses'  way  —  and  next  day  when  it's  turned 
over  it  looks  as  though  it  had  never  been  touched, 
quite  respectable  like." 

Peter:  "Am  /  carving  this  cinder  or  are  you .?" 

Amelia  (calmly,  but  as  I  knew  ominously): 
"Neither  of  us,  sir,  at  this  partickler  minute.  But 
p'r'aps  you  will  be  startin'  before  it's  cold." 

Sounds  of  splashings  of  gravy,  and  hurried  exit 
of  Amelia  (I  guessed  to  fetch  a  cloth). 

"  It's  the  best  table-cloth,  sir,  double  damux,  and 
has  to  last  a  fortnight." 

"A  ivhat?'' 

"A  week  for  dinner,  and  folio  win'  week  for 
breakfast." 

"A  piggish  habit!" 

"A  what,  sir?" 

"A  piggish  habit.  Are  there  no  laundries  or 
washerwomen  about  here  ?  " 

"Plenty,  sir,  but  we  don't  want  to  over- work 
'em.  Will  you  give  me  a  bit  of  the  knuckle  for  the 
mistress,  she  likes  knuckle.  It's  not  often  she  gets 
meat  for  her  dinner,  only  beef  and  lamb  and  mutton, 
no  pork  or  veal  or  beefsteak  pie.  That's  the 
knuckle,  sir,  the  other  end." 

Splutterings  and  drill  language  from  Peter. 
159 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"And  what  does  she  have  then?"  asked  mother. 

"A  whitin',  mum,  mostly." 

"She  looks  like  it." 

"And  you'd  look  like  it  too,  sir,  if  you  was  to 
lie  still,  flat  on  your  back,  day  after  day." 

Arrival  of  Amelia  with  my  tray.  Confidential 
whispering.  The  meat  will  have  to  be  hashed  to- 
morrow, as  it's  been  carved  so  disgracefully.  I 
cheer  her  up  to  the  best  of  my  ability. 

Return  of  Amelia  to  dining-room. 

"  What's  this  vegetable  supposed  to  be  —  seakale 
or  asparagus  "^  " 

"Neither,  sir"  (chuckhng).  " It's  salsify.  Thought 
you  wouldn't  know  it,  as  you  don't  seem  to  be  up  in 
the  names  of  things." 

I  bury  my  face  in  my  serviette  and  hold  on  to  the 
tortoise. 

"It's  like  stewed  sawdust." 

"Is  it,  sir.^  The  cookery  book  says  it's  like 
vegetable  hoyster." 

"  Vegetable 'u;/iaf.?" 

"  Vegetable  hoyster." 

"  I  don't  understand  you  "  (thunderingly).  "  Speak 
plainly,  girl." 

"Do  you   know  what  gentlefolks  buys  off  stalls 
at  the  seaside  and  eats  with  lemon  and  cyenne.'*" 
(An  apparent  effort  to  keep  calm.) 

Peter  (shouting) :  "  Winkles ! " 

Amelia  (with  fine  scorn) :  "  My  friends  don't  buy 
160 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

winkles;  it's  only  common  folks  as  does  that.     My 
friends  buy  hoysters." 

"  Oh,  oy  —  sters ! " 

"  Yes,  hoy  —  sters." 

"You  can  bring  in  the  next  course,  Angelina." 

"Amelia,  sir.     You're  that  bad  in  your  memory 

"     Rest    of    sentence    finished    in    hall    and 

kitchen. 

Gentle  murmur  from  mother. 

"I  shall!"  (loudly).  "It's  a  treat  to  speak  to  a 
girl  with  a  bit  of  sense,  though  she  is  an  impudent 
hussy,  after  our  sleek-tongued  fools  —  yes,  fools, 
every  one  of  them!" 

Clattering  of  saucepans  in  kitchen  and  stamping 
of  Amelia  across  the  hall  with  the  pudding.  I  could 
not  remember  what  I  had  ord  —  suggested  in  the 
way  of  pudding,  and  I  hoped  it  would  meet  with 
Peter's  approval. 

"Is  tliis  a  pudding?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  I  thought  puddings  stood  up  straight  ?  " 

"Not  all  of  'em,  sir.  Some  is  a  bit  weak-kneed 
in  the  joints." 

Was  she  poking  fun  at  Peter's  gouty  legs .'' 

"  What's  inside  it  ?  " 

"Here's  a  knife  and  fork,  sir.  You'll  soon  find 
out." 

"What's  inside  it.?" 

"P'r'aps  it's  a  spoon  you  are  wantin'  as  well." 
161 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"I  don't  eat  red-currant  pudding." 

"Sorry,  sir.  Just  keep  quiet  till  the  next  course, 
sir." 

"Keep  quiet!"  (Yells.)     "What  do  you  mean.?" 

"The  mistress's  nerves  gets  upset  with  a  bit  of 
noise." 

"  Your  mistress  seems  to  get  upset  with  the  slightest 
provocation." 

"  She  does,  sir.  I  saw  her  cryin'  not  so  long  ago 
over  a  bunch  of  honeysuckle.  She  was  took  reg'lar 
bad  —  red  eyes  and  nose." 

"Well,  of  course  she'll  miss  gathering  it  this 
year.  The  deuce  knows  why  women  like  picking 
things  full  of  d  —  ahem !  abominable  insects.  But 
they're  bom  that  way  —  born  stupid." 

I  surprised  a  gentle  note  almost  in  the  first  part 
of  his  sentence  which  filled  me  with  wonder.  Was 
Peter  really  sorry  for  me? 

And  as  though  he  were  ashamed  of  his  unwonted 
softness  his  next  remark  made  Amelia  skip.  I 
<'ould  distinctly  hear  her  skip,  and  it  made  me 
laugh.  Few  people  can  make  her  run,  let  alone 
skip. 

"This  pudding  makes  me  sick,  girl.  It  smells 
of  suet,  reeks  of  suet.  Remove  it  at  once!"  he 
thundered. 

She  stood  her  ground  for  a  moment. 

"But  the  mistress  hasn't  had  any  " 

"llemove  that  pudding!" 
162 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"But  supposin'  Mrs.  Macintosh  wants  another 
helpin'"  (waveringly). 

"Mrs.  Macintosh  wonH  require  any  more  pud- 
ding. Mrs.  Macintosh  is  going  to  take  a  liver  pill. 
Too  much  pudding  would  be  bad  for  her." 

"But " 

"Take  out  tliis  pudding!" 

The  windows  rattled,  and  Amelia  bolted  —  not 
into  the  kitchen  but  into  here,  and  after  planking 
the  pudding  down  on  to  Dimbie's  arm-chair,  said  — 

"If  you  please,  mum,  I  must  leave." 

"  Leave  ?  "  I  echoed  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  mum.  I  could  not  stop  another  minute  — 
not  for  a  thousand  pounds  down  —  with  that  gentle — 
I  mean  man  in  the  house.  Either  he  must  go  or 
me." 

Before  I  could  check  myself  I  had  smiled,  for  had 
not  Amelia  called  Peter  a  gentle,  the  offspring  of 
a  meat-fly  —  the  horrible  creature  with  which  I  had 
fished  as  a  little  girl  ?  And  —  Amelia  took  instant 
offence  at  my  smile.  Not  being  able  to  follow  my 
train  of  thought,  she  imagined  I  was  laughing  at 
her. 

"To-night,"  she  said. 

"To-night!"  I  cried,  not  wisliing  to  echo  her 
words,  but  surprise  bereft  me  of  an  original  mode 
of  speech. 

"I  must  leave  you  to-night." 

I  lay  back  and  looked  at  Amelia  —  at  her  leaning, 
163 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

high-heeled  shoes,  at  her  pearl  necklace,  at  her  be- 
frilled  apron,  at  her  perky  cap,  at  her  tightly-curled 
fringe.  Could  all  these  things  be  leaving  me  to- 
night, leaving  me  forever?  I  should  miss  them,  I 
knew,  so  accustomed  does  one  become  to  familiar 
objects.  I  wondered  where  they  would  go,  how 
long  it  would  be  before  Amelia  stitched  the  right- 
hand  string  to  her  apron  instead  of  pinning  it  there  ? 
My  eyes  rose  slowly  from  the  apron,  upon  which 
they  had  been  resting,  to  her  necklace.  Whose 
gaze,  instead  of  mine,  would  rest  upon  those  pearls  ? 
Then  I  reached  Amelia's  face  —  her  soap-shone, 
eager  face.  This  brought  me  to  the  girl  herself. 
She,  Amelia,  who  had  seemed  so  devoted,  she  was 
going  to  leave  me 

"  To-night ! "  broke  in  Amelia  sternly. 

"Yes,  yes,"  I  said  quickly. 

She  stood  and  looked  at  me  defiantly.  I  don't 
know  why,  for  I  wasn't  speaking. 

"How  soon  shall  you  start.''"  I  asked  for  want 
of  something  to  say. 

She  did  not  reply. 

"Perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  giving  me  a  little 
pudding  before  you  go,"  I  said.  "It's  getting  cold. 
You  put  it  over  there  on  the  chair."  And  to  my 
immense  surprise  she  burst  into  tears. 

"Whatever's  the  matter  .p"  I  asked  in  consterna- 
tion.    "Don't  cry,   Amelia,   don't  cry."     I  patted 
the  tortoise  as  Amelia  wasn't  near  enough  to  pat. 
164 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"I  —  I  don't  want  to  go,"  she  sobbed. 

"No?     Well,  don't  go,"  I  said  soothingly. 

"But  you  want  me  to." 

"  /  want  you  to  go  .^ " 

"Yes." 

"  Whatever  makes  you  think  that  ?  " 

"You  didn't  say  as  I  wasn't  to  go  when  I  said  I 
was,  and  I  would  too." 

This  was  a  little  involved,  but  I  disentangled  it. 

"I  never  thought  of  saying  you  were  not  to  go. 
You  seemed  to  have  so  completely  made  up  your  min  d . " 

"I  wish  everybody  was  all  Uke  you,"  she  said, 
somewhat  inconsequently. 

"All  cripples,"  I  laughed. 

She  went  on  sobbing. 

"  I  wonder  why  you  are  crying "?  "  I  said  at  length 
gently. 

"Because  I  don't  know  where  to  go  at  this  time 
of  night.  It's  past  eight,  and  the  roads  are  full  of 
tramps." 

"Well,  don't  go.  Your  bedroom  is  surely  com- 
fortable. You've  always  said  how  much  you  like 
the  pink  roses  on  the  wall-paper." 

"  I  couldn't  sleep  in  the  same  house  as  that  man 
who  calls  himself  a  gentleman,  beggin'  your  pardon, 
mum.  The  same  roof  shall  never  cover  us  again. 
And  to  think  he's  your  father  —  you're  flesh  of  his 
flesh,  bone  of  his  bone." 

For  a  moment  I  wondered  whether  she  would 
1G5 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

consent  to  sleep  in  the  shed  with  the  canoe  and 
Jumbles  if  we  rigged  up  a  hammock.  Or  could  I 
persuade  Peter  to  return  home  if  I  explained  how 
matters  stood  ?  But  on  reflection  I  knew  neither  of 
these  things  could  be.  Amelia  was  still  repeating 
"  bone  of  his  bone "  in  an  automatic  fashion,  when 
I  broke  in,  "  I  can't  help  that,  Amelia.  I  can't  help 
his  being  my  father."  Then  perhaps  I  behaved 
foolishly,  unfilially,  for  I  took  her  into  my  confidence. 
But  what  else  was  I  to  do  ?  I  am  not  a  diplomatist. 
I  am  not  a  Talleyrand.  Amelia  must  be  kept  at  any 
price.  The  thought  of  mother  and  Peter  struggling 
to  light  the  kitchen  fire  on  the  morrow  made  me 
shudder. 

"  Amelia  " I  began. 

She  took  her  apron  from  her  eyes,  and  I  became 
nervous. 

"I  —  I  would  hke  some  pudding,  please,  however 
cold  it  may  be.  And  —  and  v*^hat  are  they  doing  in 
the  other  room  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  replied,  with  a  gesture  indi- 
cating, as  I  took  it,  that  she  didn't  care  if  they  were 
descending  the  bottomless  pit. 

"  Shut  the  door,"  I  breathed. 

She  did  so. 

*'  Amelia "  I  began  again. 

"Yes,  mum." 

"/  have  felt  like  that." 

'•  Like  what  ?  " 

166 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*'  Like  —  that  I  couldn't  sleep  in  the  same  house 
as  Pet  —  General  Macintosh." 

Her  eyes  became  round. 

"Yes,  I  have/'  I  repeated. 

She  nodded  her  head  and  came  closer. 

"You  see,  he  is  a  little  difficult,  a  little  difficult, 
Amelia.  Perhaps  his  tem  —  pecuharity  has  been 
caused  by  his  gout.  He  has  suffered  a  great  deal. 
The  servants  at  home  and  mother  —  well,  they  all 
stay  on.     They  don't  leave.     Do  you  understand  ?  " 

She  nodded  with  complete  comprehension. 

I  now  realised  how  very  clever  Amelia  was. 

"I  am  not  well,"  I  went  on  plaintively,  "and 
mother  isn't  very  strong  and  capable,  and  I  don't 
quite  know  what  I  shall  do  without  you.  I'm  — 
I'm  afraid  I  shall  die  if  you  leave  me.     In  fact,  I'm 

sure  I  shall  die "  and  my  voice  tailed  off  into  a 

moan  as  I  finished. 

Amelia  twisted  her  apron  into  tight  rolls,  then 
untwisted  them,  and  then  leaned  on  her  high  heels 
towards  the  couch. 

"  Of  course,  I  don't  want  you  to  die,  mum." 

"No?"  I  said. 

"I  shouldn't  like  it  to  be  said  as  how  I  finished 
you  off." 

"  I  am  sure  you  wouldn't,"  I  agreed  with  warmth. 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  stop."  There  was  an  uplifted, 
heroic  expression  on  Amelia's  face.  "  I'll  stop.  I'll 
never  leave  you,  mum  —  not  till  the  breath  goes  out 
167 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

of  my  body,  not  till  I'm  a  corpse  in  my  coffin,  not 
even  for  the  butcher's  young  man,  who  was  only 
a-sayin'  yesterday  as  how  I  had  the  finest  figger  he'd 
ever  come  across.  I'll  work  for  you  till  I  drops. 
I'll  just  ignore  your  father,  mum.  Oh,  mum,  if 
everybody  was  as  gentle  and  perlite  and  soft  spoken 
as  you  I'd  die  for  'em."  And  flinging  herself  upon 
her  knees,  she  wept  against  the  Liberty  sofa  blanket, 
while  I  surreptitiously  stroked  her  cap,  there  being 
no  hair  visible  to  stroke. 


168 


CHAPTER   XVI 

FOREBODINGS 

I  AM  very  weary.  In  the  old  days,  before  my 
accident,  it  was  my  boast  that  I  was  never  tired. 
Perhaps  the  exertion  of  conciUating  Peter,  of  trying 
to  keep  the  peace  between  him  and  Amelia,  has 
been  too  much  for  me  these  sultry  days.  I  know 
not.  But  I  do  know  that  I  am  always  tired.  The 
sort  of  tiredness  which  makes  me  say,  "  Go  away, 
Amelia,"  when  she  brings  my  hot  water,  and  lays 
my  tea-gown  and  brush  and  comb  on  the  bed,  and 
the  long  arduous  task  of  being  dressed  lies  before 
me.  "Leave  me  for  another  hour,  please."  And 
of  course  she  argues  and  says  the  water  will  go  cold ; 
and  I  tell  her  I  prefer  it  so,  closing  my  eyes  wearily 
to  show  that  the  discussion  is  finished. 

She  surveys  me,  I  know,  in  surprise.  How  can  I 
be  tired  when  I  do  absolutely  nothing  but  lie  still, 
when  she  is  quite  fresh  after  doing  the  whole  work 
of  the  universe.'*  "Amelia,  there  is  a  weariness  of 
the  spirit  which  is  greater  than  that  of  the  flesh. 
You  cannot  understand  this.  A  weariness  which 
leads  you  to  no  other  desire  but  that  of  lying  quite 
169 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

still  with  your  eyes  closed,  which  makes  you  regard 
the  simple  act  of  combing  out  your  own  hair  as 
tantamount  to  one  of  the  Herculean  labours.  You 
would  almost  prefer  its  being  tangled  to  going 
through  the  exertion  of  getting  it  straight.  That 
you  would  like  to  disentangle  it  for  me,  I  know,  but 
I  shudder  at  the  very  thought.  You  are  kind,  but 
you  don't  understand  how  very  tired  I  am.  I  want 
to  rest  a  little  longer." 

Even  the  prospect  of  being  under  the  apple  tree, 
in  the  proximity  of  my  friends  the  ants,  doesn't 
tempt  me.  The  dressing  has  to  be  got  through 
first.  It  hurts  —  the  lifting  from  the  bed  to  the 
couch  —  though  Amelia  is  very  tender.  It  jars  — 
that  being  wheeled  from  the  hall  on  to  the  step.  I 
want  to  be  without  steps  and  doors,  and  comers  and 
turnings  and  sudden  descents.  I  want  to  be  on  a 
gentle,  inclined  plane  —  on  a  soft,  billowy  cloud,  on 
wings  of  thistledown.  I  am  tired  of  my  body.  It 
is  troublesome  and  aching.  I  would  gladly  have 
done  with  it  to-day.  Oh,  that  I  could  step  out  of  it 
and  into  a  new,  whole,  strong  body  —  radiant  and 
beautiful  —  for  Dimbie's  sake. 

It  is  hard  that  these  bodies  have  to  get  so  tired 
before  we  have  done  with  them.  God  sends  this 
weariness,  I  suppose,  to  make  the  passing  easier.  I 
am  thinking  of  Aunt  Letitia  now.  She  has  gone, 
she  has  done  with  the  world,  she  knows  what  is 
behind  the  veil. 

170 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Dimbie  says  she  just  slept  herself  awaj\  She  was 
conscious  almost  to  the  last,  but  was  too  tired  even 
to  eat  a  grape.     Then  she  fell  asleep. 

Dimbie  will  be  coming  home  now,  but  —  not  for 
four  days.  Four  days  seem  a  long  time  in  which 
to  bury  a  very  tired,  little,  old  lady.  What  am  I 
saying  .'*  Am  I  growing  selfish  ?  "  Forgive  me. 
Aunt  Letitia.  I  will  not  grudge  Dimbie  to  you  at 
the  last,  when  you  have  done  so  much  for  him." 
And  the  time  will  pass,  for  mother  and  Peter  are 
still  here,  and  one  cannot  be  dull  when  Peter  is  in 
the  neighbourhood. 

I  hear  Amelia's  footsteps.  She  enters  the  room 
and  tells  me  I  must  get  up.  It  is  useless  asking  her 
to  permit  me  to  have  "  a  little  slumber,  a  little  sleep, 
a  little  folding  of  the  hands  to  sleep,"  for  she  tells 
me  that  it  is  dining-room  day,  which  means  that  she 
must  clean  it,  and  cannot  waste  any  more  time  on  an 
idle,  troublesome  girl. 

I  ask  her  if  I  may  lie  in  Nature's  own  garments 
under  the  apple  tree,  with  just  a  soft,  silken  cover- 
let thrown  over  me;  and  she  is  scandalised,  and  says 
most  probably  Mr.  Brook,  the  vicar,  or  Mrs.  Cob- 
bold  may  call. 

"Amelia,"  I  say,  "I  am  tired  of  your  threatening 
me  with  Mr.  Brook.  We  have  lived  here  for  six 
months,  and  he  does  not  seem  to  be  dreaming  of 
calHng  upon  us.  As  for  Mrs.  Cobbold  —  well,  she 
will  never  call  again." 

171 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Mr.  Brook  has  been  ill,"  she  argues. 

"Mrs.  Brook  might  have  called." 

"  She  has  been  too  busy  nursing  him." 

"Poor  woman!  She  must  be  quite  glad  of  an 
excuse,  then,  not  to  call,"  I  said.  "I  have  the 
truest  sympathy  for  clergymen's  wives,  always 
going  to  see  stupid  parishioners  because  it  is  con- 
sidered their  duty.     I  only  hope  she  will  not  call." 

"We  never  use  the  best  china,"  said  Ameha  sadly. 

"Use  it  while  mother  is  here,"  I  said  cheeringly; 
"it  will  be  a  good  opportunity." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  It's  too  good  for  common  use.  Mrs.  Macintosh 
might  stay  a  fortnight,  and  he  might  smash  it." 
("Ife"  is  Peter.) 

I  ask  her  what  they  are  doing  with  themselves, 
and  she  says  Peter  is  scrattlin'  his  feet  about  on  the 
doorstep  like  an  old  hen. 

She  attacks  me  with  a  brush,  and  I  implore  her  to 
permit  my  hair  to  hang  loose  to-day.  I  explain  that 
it  is  all  in  a  tangle,  and  perhaps  a  passing  breeze 
might  disentangle  it,  so  saving  us  much  trouble. 
She  regards  me  severely,  and  says  no  breeze  will 
tliink  of  knocking  about,  that  it  is  about  80 
degrees  in  the  shade,  and  that  if  I  wish  Mr.  Brook 
to  see  me,  of  course  —  " 

"Put  it  up,"  I  cry;  "and  if  you  dangle  Mr.  Brook 
in  front  of  my  eyes  once  again  I  will  throw  some- 
thing at  you." 

172 


Dimbie  and  1  —  and  Amelia 

She  tells  me  to  calm  myself,  and,  picking  me  up, 
lays  me  on  the  couch  and  trundles  me  out  of  the 
front  door. 

And  here  I  lie  refusing  to  do  anytliing  but  gaze 
at  the  soft,  wliite,  eider-down  clouds  which  seem  to 
be  trying  to  tuck  up  the  blue.  Amelia  has  tried  to 
make  me  eat.  I  have  refused.  Mother  has  tried 
to  engage  me  in  a  conversation  about  Dimbie  — 
artful  mother!  I  have  refused.  Peter  has  tried 
to  draw  me  into  a  quarrel.  I  have  still  refused. 
And  now  they  have  all  gone  away  and  left  me. 
Praised  be  the  gods! 

*  *  *  *  *  ' 

As  the  shadows  began  to  lengthen  upon  the  lawn 
I  fell  asleep,  and  when  I  opened  my  eyes,  very 
slowly,  for  I  did  not  want  to  return  to  a  world 
without  Dimbie,  I  found  Dr.  Rentou  sitting  at  the 
side  of  my  couch  watching  me  intently.  I  fancied 
that  he  had  been  there  for  some  time,  and  I  felt 
vaguely  uneasy. 

"May  I  smoke?"  was  his  first  question. 

"  Of  course,"  I  said.    "  Have  you  been  here  long  ?  " 

"About  half  an  hour."     He  struck  a  match. 

"Why  didn't  you  wake  me.^" 

"You  had  a  bad  night?" 

I  nodded. 

"It  was  the  heat." 

"Where's    your    husband?     It's    time    he    was 
home,  isn't  it  ?  "     He  took  out  his  watch. 
173 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"He's  away." 

"Away!  Well,  he's  no  right  to  be  away  when 
you  are  so  —  feeling  the  heat.     What's  he  doing  ?  " 

"  My  husband  was  obliged  to  go  to  an  aunt  of  his 
who  was  dying,"  I  said  with  dignity. 

"What  does  she  mean  by  dying  now?"  he  said 
with  asperity. 

"She's  not,  she's  dead." 

"Ah,  that's  better!"  he  observed  in  a  most 
shameless  manner.     "  He  will  be  returning  to-day  ?  " 

"  Not  for  four  days.  He  must  wait  for  the  funeral. 
This  aunt  practically  brought  him  up." 

"Well,  she's  not  bringing  him  up  now,"  he  said, 
marching  about  the  lawn.     "  His  duty  hes  at  home." 

"Dimbie  knows  liis  duty  as  well  as  any  man,"  I 
said  stiffly. 

Dr.  Renton  laughed. 


"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but " 

"  You  think  I  am  fretting  for  him  ?  " 
"  Yes,  I  do.     Your  face  is  like  a  bit  of  white  note- 
paper." 

"The  heat,"  I  said. 

"  Are  you  eating  properly  ?" 

"  Who  could  eat  in  this  weather  ?  " 

"  Are  you  sleeping  well  ?  " 

"  Dr.  Renton,  I  don't  want  to  talk  of  myself." 

"  But  we  must.     What's  the  matter  with  you  ? " 

"Nothing." 

"  Are  you  tired  ?  " 

174 


Makgukrite,  I  don't  want  to  frighten  tou 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*'I  have  just  been  to  sleep." 

"Look  here,  Marguerite,"  he  said  sternly,  sitting 
down  and  staring  into  my  face,  "  answer  my  ques- 
tions properly  —  I  am  your  medical  adviser  —  or  I 
will  call  in  Mr.  Rovell ;  in  fact,  I  am  going  to  persuade 
Rovell  to  have  a  look  at  you  in  any  case." 

"Call  in  Mr.  Rovell.'"  I  said  blankly. 

He  nodded. 

"Candidly,  I  am  not  satisfied  with  your  appear- 
ance.    You  are  much  thinner." 

"Mr.  Rovell  can't  make  me  fatter." 

"I  shall  bring  him  this  week  —  say  Thursday." 

I  stared  at  him,  dismayed  and  frightened. 

"  I  don't  see  the  sense  of  making  Dimbie  fork  out 
another  big  fee,"  I  quavered,  "  and  I'm  —  I'm  quite 
well." 

"  Are  you  ?     How's  the  back  ?  " 

"  It's  quite  —  well,  thanks." 

"  I  thought  you  were  truthful." 

"Well,  it's  pretty  well." 

"Marguerite,"  he  said  gently,  holding  my  hand, 
"I  don't  want  to  frighten  you.  As  you  say,  your 
white,  rose-leaf  face  and  hands  may  be  the  result  of 
the  great  heat,  but  —  I  think  it  well  to  have  another 
opinion.  It  cannot  do  you  any  harm,  it  may  do  you 
good,  and  at  any  rate  it  will  satisfy  me." 

"Very  well,"  I  said,  laying  my  face  on  his  hand 
for  a  moment,  "  but  I  —  am  frightened." 

"  I  know,"  he  replied.  "  I  have  seen  fear,  sicken- 
175 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

ing  anxiety,  written  on  the  faces  of  many  of  my 
patients  when  the  great  speciahst  —  the  man  who 
will  pronounce  their  doom  or  otherwise  —  has  en- 
tered the  room,  only  to  be  followed  by  a  great  joy. 
We  must  hope  and  pray  that  this  joy  will  be  yours. 
It  must  be,"  he  said  almost  savagely,  getting  up 
and  kicking  over  his  chair.  "You  are  too  young 
always  to  lie  still."  The  last  words  were  muttered 
to  himself  but  I  caught  them,  and  a  momentary 
darkness  rose  before  my  eyes,  but  I  brushed  it  away 
as  something  tangible. 

"  You  —  but  you  do  think  it  will  be  well  with  me, 
Dr.  Renton.P"  and  the  bitter  entreaty  of  my  cry 
startled  my  own  ears. 

Voices  came  across  the  garden,  and  mother  and 
Peter  appeared  through  the  gate. 

Dr.  Renton  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  went 
to  meet  them. 

My  question  remained  unanswered. 


176 


CHAPTER   XVII 

MT   WORST   FEARS   ARE   REALISED 

THE  day  has  come  at  last  on  which  DImbie  is 
to  return,  and  —  I  am  not  glad.  That  I, 
his  wife,  should  ever  write  such  words  seems  almost 
unbelievable.  But,  oh  —  I  am  not  ready  for  him ! 
[  am  not  yet  brave  enough  to  smile.  I  slirink  from 
the  thought  of  meeting  the  look  of  happiness  in 
his  blue  eyes,  of  hearing  the  joyous  ring  of  his 
voice,  of  seeing  the  whimsical,  crooked  smile  on 
his  lips.  For  how  can  I  return  the  look,  how  smile 
back  at  him  when  my  heart  is  wellnigh  breaking, 
and  every  fibre  of  my  being  will  be  concentrated  in 
keeping  my  lips  steady,  my  eyes  undimmed.'' 

And  yet  I  must  smile  —  somehow. 

It  matters  not  that  my  happiness  is  marred  so 
long  as  Dimbie  never  knows  it  —  if  my  tears  fall  in 
the  darkness  when  he  is  asleep;  if  my  spirit  cries 
out  in  its  anguish,  and  only  God  hears.  God  will 
not  mind  as  Dimbie  would  mind,  for  Dimbie  loves 
me.  It  is  hard  to  believe  that  God  loves  me,  or 
why  give  me  such  happiness  just  for  a  little  while 
177 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

only  to  wrest  it  from  me  ?  It  is  He  who  has  crippled 
me  for  life;  He  who  gave  me  strong  young  hmbs, 
only  to  strike  them  helpless;  He  who  filled  me  with 
a  passionate  love  for  Nature,  only  to  shut  me  away 
from  her  forever  within  four  walls. 

And  yet  Christian  people  tell  us  that  He  is  a  God 
of  love.  Love?  I  smile,  it  seems  so  strange  that 
they  should  believe  this.  And  they  will  come  along 
and  say  very  kindly,  very  gently,  "  You  loved  Dimbie 
too  much,  you  made  an  idol  of  him.  God  has  sent 
you  this  trial  to  bring  you  to  Kim.  He  must  always 
come  first."  And  you  wonder  at  their  lack  of  under- 
standing. Do  they  not  know  that  you  come  closest 
to  God  in  your  moments  of  supreme  happiness  ? 
It  is  then  you  want  to  creep  away  to  a  quiet  spot 
and  thank  Him,  on  your  knees,  for  giving  you  such 
happiness.  It  is  then  you  look  upon  all  the  wonders 
of  the  world  with  understanding  eyes.  It  is  then 
you  try  to  help  those  who  suffer  and  are  sick.  Oh, 
dear  religious  people,  it  is  you  who  don't  understand ! 
It  is  not  sorrow  which  brings  men  and  women  to 
God,  it  is  joy.  It  would  seem  to  me  a  poor  sort  of 
thing  to  go  to  God  when  you  are  down  on  your 
luck  —  to  make  Him  a  substitute  for  husband, 
home,  friends;  in  fact,  to  call  upon  Him  when 
everything  else  has  failed.  That  sort  of  religion 
does  not  appeal  to  me! 

I  was  grateful  to  Him,  too,  for  my  happiness,  for 
giving  me  Dimbie.     Li  my  contentment  I  think  I 

178 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

tried  to  lead  a  better  life,  to  be  more  tender-hearted, 
more  charitable,  less  down  upon  other  people's 
shortcomings ;  and  now  —  God  has  forgotten  me. 

O  God,  were  you  not  a  little  soriy  for  me  when 
they  —  the  doctors  had  gone,  stepped  out  into  the 
beautiful  wide  world,  and  left  me  alone  a  helpless, 
stricken  creature?  Did  you  not  feel  a  little  twinge 
of  pity  when,  not  believing  them,  I  struggled  to 
stand,  gripped  the  head  of  the  bed,  held  out  vague, 
wandering  hands  to  anything  that  might  help  me  to 
raise  myself,  only  to  fall  in  a  huddled,  unconscious 
heap  on  the  floor?  Or  perhaps  you  said,  "Poor, 
foolish  little  cliild,  she  is  rebellious  now;  but  a  day 
will  come  when  her  spirit  will  be  broken,  broken 
upon  the  wheel  of  suffering." 

Ah !  what  am  I  saying  ?  Forgive  me,  O  Lord. 
I  am  weak  and  sorrowful  and  lonely.  I  cannot 
understand  it  yet;  I  cannot  see  the  reason  why. 
I  am  as  a  little  child  groping  in  the  darkness.  The 
darkness  stretches  away  to  an  eternity,  and  I  can 
see  no  daylight.  But  help  me  to  smile,  help  me 
to  smile  when  Dimbie  comes  home. 

The  afternoon  is  hot  and  long  and  very  silent. 

Mother  and  Peter  are  gone.  Instinctively  mother 
knew  I  wanted  to  be  alone  to  meet  Dimbie.  How 
wise  mothers  are!  She  strained  me  to  her  breast, 
and  the  hot  tears  fell  upon  my  face  as  she  said 
"  Good-bye." 

179 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"A  word  from  you,"  she  whispered,  *'will  always 
bring  me,  even  from  the  very  end  of  the  earth." 

"And  what  about  Peter,  httle  mother?"  I  asked 
tremulously. 

"Peter  must  remain  at  home." 

"But  I  think  even  he  is  a  little  sorry  for  me,"  I 
said  gently. 

She  turned  away,  trying  to  get  her  face  and  lips 
still. 

"  In  the  night  I  heard  him  say,  '  My  little 
Marguerite,  my  poor  little  girl!'"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"Don't,  mother!"  A  great  sob  burst  from  me. 
"Don't  tell  me  things  like  that.  Don't  sympathise 
with  me,  for  I  cannot  bear  it  —  yet.  Just  take  your 
broken  girl  as  a  matter  of  course.  Try  to  pretend 
that  I  have  always  been  helpless,  crippled.  Imagine 
me  as  a  little  baby  once  more,  needing  all  your 
love  and  tenderness,  but  not  your  sympathy.  It  is 
sympathy  that  will  make  me  break  down,  it  is 
sympathy  that  will  make  me  weep.  And  I  am 
trying  to  keep  all  my  strength  for  Dimbie.  If  I 
cry  I  shall  become  weak,  and  then  I  shan't  be  able 
to  smile  when  he  comes  through  the  garden-gate. 
Don't  give  me  sympathy,  mother." 

^  »p  "T^  -i-  "T^ 

It  is  five  o'clock.  In  an  hour's  time  Dimbie  will 
be  here. 

The  day  has  passed  desperately  slowly,  and  yet  all 
180 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

too  quickly,  for  I  am  not  ready  for  him  yet.  My 
smile  is  still  trembly.  I  feel  my  lips  quiver  as  I 
practise  it.  Amelia  looks  at  me  out  of  the  corner 
of  her  eye.  How  can  she  know  what  I  am  doing  — 
that  I  am  engaged  in  smiling  exercises.?  A  new 
feature  of  my  curious  mental  condition,  she  thinks. 
But  Amelia  is  very  gentle  and  patient  with  me  now. 
She  does  not  want  me  to  know  that  there  is  any 
difference  in  her  method  of  treating  me.  She  is  still 
firm  and  managing,  but  an  unwonted  softness  creeps 
into  her  voice  and  manner  when  she  addresses  me. 
She  has  not  referred  to  my  trouble,  and  I  under- 
stand why.  She  is  cheating  herself  into  believing 
that  the  doctors  have  made  a  mistake,  and  she 
thinks  she  is  cheating  me  into  the  same  belief.  In 
an  off-hand  way  she  will  refer  to  Mr.  Tompkins 
having  been  told  by  a  famous  specialist  that  he  was 
suffering  from  "  hangina  pectorate,"  and  how  it  was 
nothing  of  the  kind,  but  simply  indigestion  through 
eating  Welsh  rabbit  six  nights  out  of  seven;  and 
how  the  second  Miss  Tompkins  was  told  unless  she 
had  an  operation  she  would  be  dead  in  a  week,  and 
how  she  ran  away  from  the  nursing  home  to  which 
she  had  been  taken  and  so  saved  her  life,  as  she 
never  had  it  done. 

Amelia's  recitations  help  to  pass  the  time.     Just 
now  I  pretended  I  wanted  tea,  hoping  to  decoy  her 
into  staying  with  me  a  while  when  she    came  to 
remove  the  tray,  but  she  said  she  was  busy. 
181 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  Busy ! "  I  ejaculated,  "  on  a  sultry  afternoon  like 
this.     What  can  you  be  doing  ?  " 

And  she  asked  me  if  I  imagined  the  work  got  done 
itself.  And  if  I  thought  an  oven  never  v^^anted 
washing  out  with  quicklime. 

"  What  do  you  do  that  for  ?  "  I  said  eagerly. 

From  certain  well-known  signs  I  thought  Amelia 
was  preparing  for  a  gossip,  but  I  was  disappointed, 
for  she  picked  up  the  tray  and  moved  towards  the 
house. 

"  Why  do  you  quicklime  the  oven  }  "  I  called  after 
her  desperately.  I  could  not  face  another  long  half- 
hour  alone. 

She  put  the  tray  down  on  to  the  step  and  walked 
slowly  back. 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  know,  mum  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  I  said. 

"Well,  to  sweeten  it." 

"Oh!     Doesn't  the  lime  burn  you ? " 

"  It  would  if  I  got  it  on  to  my  hands,  but  I  don't." 

"  Where  do  you  get  it  from .? " 

"I  got  a  big  lump  out  of  a  field." 

"  Do  you  —  do  you  find  lime  in  fields  ?  " 

She  eyed  me  with  pity. 

"A  house  was  being  built  there,"  she  said  laconi- 
cally, as  she  began  to  walk  away. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  I  called.  "There's  no  hurry. 
Where  was  the  field  T^ 

She  stood  and  stared  at  me. 
182 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"You  see,  I  —  I  am  very  interested  in  quicklime 
and  ovens."  I  spoke  rapidly.  "Did  the  Tomp- 
kinses  quicklime  their  oven  ? " 

Amelia  fell  into  the  trap  like  a  mouse. 

"They  didn't  till  I  taught  'em.  They  didn't  do 
anythink  like  that  till  I  showed  'em  how.  When 
I  went  there  first,  the  oven  was  like  that  tex  in  the 
Bible." 

"Which  text.^"  I  asked  with  relief,  for  she  had 
seated  herself  upon  the  grass. 

"'It  stank  in  your  nostrils.'" 

"  Dear  me,"  I  said,  "  how  unpleasant." 

"Heverythink  tasted  of  ovens.  You  know  the 
taste,  mum } " 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  do." 

"  It's  like  bad  hot  fat." 

"  Oh,  then,  I'm  sure  I  don't.  And  so  you  cleaned 
it." 

"It  came  off  in  cakes.  I  had  to  take  a  knife  to 
it." 

"The  lime.?" 

She  eyed  me  sadly. 

"  I'm  afraid  you're  not  listenin,'  mum  ?  " 

"Why.?" 

"I'm  just  tellin'  you  as  how  I  put  the  lime  oh, 
and  you  asks  me  if  I  took  it  off.  It's  the  dirt  — 
the  fat  I'm  speaking  of  now." 

"Oh,  of  course.  It's  the  dirt  you  are  speaking 
of  —  the  fat  that  stank  in  your  nostrils."     I  added 

1S3 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

tliis  last  to  show  how  very  sure  I  was  of  my  ground. 
But  this  didn't  appease  her.  She  was  in  a  contrary 
mood,  and  rose. 

"Don't  go,"  I  cried.  "Wait,  I  have  something 
important  to  ask  you.  I  —  "  feverishly  I  cudgelled 
my  brains  —  "I  want  to  know  the  name  of  the  poet 
who  used  to  go  to  the  Tompkinses',  and  looked  like 
a  garden  leek.  Was  it  by  any  chance  "  —  I  picked 
up  a  book  —  "  William  Watson  ?  " 

"No,  mum,  William  Potts." 

"  A  poet  named  Potts  ?  You  must  be  mistaken. 
A  poet  could  not  be  named  Potts." 

Amelia  set  her  lips  doggedly. 

"This  one  was." 

"  Perhaps  he  was  a  tinker  really,  or  you  are  mis- 
taken in  the  name,  as  I  said  before.  Poets  have 
musical-sounding  names,  such  as  Wordsworth, 
Tennyson,  Byron." 

Amelia  was  evidently  trying  to  keep  her  temper. 

"This  man  was  named  Potts,  I  know  it  for  a 
fact,  for  I  always  remembered  it  by  thinking  of 
kettles." 

"Oh!"  I  said. 

"Yes,  whenever  I  wants  to  remember  a  name  I 
think  of  somethink  else  like  it,  that  helps  me.  When 
that  stout  lady  called  on  you  I  thought  of  a  cobbler." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Cobbold,"  I  said  brightly,  pleased  at 
being  able  to  follow  her  meaning. 

She  cheered  up  a  little. 
184 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Now,  when  your  father,  General  Macintosh, 
came,  I  just  thinks  quickly  of  your  waterproof 
hangin'  in  the  hall." 

"I  see." 

"Don't  you  think  it's  a  good  plan,  mum ?" 

"Most  brilhant,"  I  replied.  "When  you  want  to 
remember  to  feed  the  canar}'^  you  say  to  yourself 
the  word  'sparrows.'" 

There  was  a  pause.  I  was  not  looking  at  Amelia. 
I  was,  therefore,  unprepared  for  the  blinding  sar- 
casm wliich  followed. 

"That's  it,  mum.  When  I  wants  to  remember 
to  boil  some  pei-taters  I  straightway  puts  on  a  cab- 
bage. When  I'm  trying  to  recollect  to  clean  the 
master's  patent  boots  I  washes  his  golf  stockin's. 
You've  got  it  quite  right,  mum.  You've  understood 
my  meanin'.  I'm  not  blamin'  you.  Folks  can't 
help  the  liinterlecks  as  God  gives  'em,  and  I'm  not 
blamin'  you,"  and  picking  herself  up  she  marched 
into  the  house. 

I  laughed  weakly  for  some  minutes  after  she  had 
gone.  She  might  have  been  watching  me  through 
the  pantry  window  —  I  care  not. 

"Bless  you,  Amelia,  for  living  with  me  and  look- 
ing after  me  and  amusing  me.  I  know  the  kindness 
of  your  heart  as  well  as  the  sharpness  of  your  tongue. 
I  know  with  what  infinite  tact  you  keep  away  from 
the  subject  of  my  infirmity,  and  I  am  grateful  to 
you. 

185 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Presently  she  was  out  again.  I  was  lying  with 
my  eyes  closed. 

"  You're  tired,  mum  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  I  said. 

"  Shall  I  get  a  flower  to  put  in  your  gown  before 
the  master  comes  .^  It  will  freshen  you  up  a 
bit." 

"How  do  I  look.?" 

She  carefully  selected  a  beautiful  red  rose. 

"There  are  tvv^o  spots  the  colour  of  this  rose  in 
the  middle  of  your  cheeks." 

"  I  look  well,  then  ?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 

She  sniffed  a  little. 

"  I've  seen  folks  as  looked  better." 

"Bring  me  a  hand-glass." 

She  w^ent  slowly  to  the  house. 

"I  didn't  know  as  you  was  vain,  mum,"  she 
observed,  as  she  put  it  into  my  hand. 

"You  can  go  back  to  your  oven  now,  Ameha," 
I  said  a  little  frigidly. 

I  waited  till  she  had  gone,  and  then  raised  the 
glass.  Two  great,  dark,  burning  eyes  looked  into 
mine.  My  cheeks  were  wasted,  and  my  hair  lay  in 
a  damp  cloud  on  my  forehead.  All  the  gold  which 
Dimbie  loved  so  much  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  it. 
In  the  relentless  light  of  day,  fascinated,  I  gazed  at 
my  strangely-altered  countenance. 

"And  once  Dimbie  thought  that  face  beautiful!" 
The  words  burst  from  nie  in  a  sob,  but  no  tears 
186 


Dimbie  and  1  —  and  Amelia 

came.  My  aching  eyes  turned  to  the  roses  and  lu- 
pins which  were  drooping  in  the  hot  afternoon  sun- 
sliine,  to  the  hedge  of  wondrous-tinted  sweet-peas, 
to  the  cool,  green  limes  and  beach  tree  leaning  over 
the  fence. 

"How  lovely  to  be  inanimate!"  I  cried  passion- 
ately. "To  be  without  a  soul,  without  a  memory, 
without  a  future.  To  be  a  soft,  fragrant  rose 
wrapped  round  by  the  sun  and  the  wind  and  summer 
rain,  sending  forth  a  sweetness  to  gladden  the  heart 
of  man,  and  then  falling  petal  by  petal  to  the  cool, 
kind  embrace  of  mother  earth. 

Why  should  humans  suffer  so  ?  Why  should  all 
this  pain  be .''  Animals  and  birds  and  fish  and 
insects  prey  upon  one  another.  They  drink  to  the 
dregs  the  cup  of  physical  suffering,  but  they  are 
spared  the  anguish  of  mental  pain. 

Will  Dimbie's  love  stand .' 

Ah,  that  is  what  is  torturing  me  day  and  night ! 

Will  Dimbie  remain  faithful  ? 

He  is  but  young.  Life  is  before  him.  He  still  lives 
in  the  present  and  future,  only  the  old  live  in  the 
past.  To  be  tied  forever  to  a  helpless  wife,  to  a 
creature  wedded  to  a  couch,  to  a  stricken,  maimed 
woman.  Oh,  how  I  hate  myself!  I  despise  my 
own  weakness  and  impotence.  Once  I  was  a 
strong  girl,  who  could  run  and  dance  and  scale  high 
mountains.  Dimbie  said  my  eyes  were  as  bright  as 
stars  in  the  frosty  heavens,  my  hair  as  gold  as  the 

187 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

setting  sun,  my  cheeks  —  ah,  he  flattered  me!  And 
now,  God  help  —  but  no,  there  is  no  one  to  help 
me.     God  has  forgotten  me! 

Bring  a  brush,  Amelia,  and  try  to  weave  into  ray 
dull  hair  a  little  of  the  bright  sunshine.  Pin  the 
red  rose  you  gathered  into  my  gown.  Twine 
around  your  finger  the  damp  tendrils  which  lie  on  my 
forehead,  and  make  them  curl  as  of  old.  Tell  me 
a  funny  story  of  the  Tompkinses  to  straighten  up 
the  drooD  of  mv  mouth.  For  Dimbie  is  coming 
down  the  lane  —  I  hear  liis  footstep  eager  and  fast 
—  and  I  want  to  look  like  the  Marguerite  he  married. 

A  bird  has  broken  into  song  in  the  apple  tree  — 
a  golden  melody.  Is  he  singing  for  the  coming  of 
Dimbie  ?  Or  is  he  a  harbinger  of  hope  ?  Does  he 
mean  that  Dimbie's  love  will  stand  —  last  through- 
out the  ages  ?  Oh,  that  it  might  be  so !  I  would 
rather  be  a  cripple  with  Dimbie's  love  than  whole 
and  strong  without  it. 


188 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DIMBIE   ROLLS   A   GREAT  LOAD   FROM   MY   HEART 

IN  the  crises  of  life  —  the  tremendous  moments 
of  fear,  hope,  and  expectation  —  what  a  curious 
calmness  overtakes  us.  Maud's  poor  lover,  after 
killing  her  brother  in  the  duel,  says  — 

"  Why  am  I  sitting  here  so  stunn'd  and  still. 
Plucking  the  harmless  wild-flower  on  the  hill  ?  " 

And  later  on,  when  he  sits  on  the  Breton  strand,  he 
says  — 

"  Strange  that  the  mind  when  fraught 
With  a  passion  so  intense 
One  would  think  that  it  well 
Might  drown  all  life  in  the  eye,  — 
That  it  should,  by  being  so  over-wrought. 
Suddenly  strike  on  a  sharper  sense 
For  a  shell,  or  a  flower,  little  things 
Which  else  would  have  been  passed  by." 

And  so  it  was  with  me,  I  "suddenly  struck  on  a 
sharper  sense"  as  Dimbie  came  through  the  gate, 
and  I  had  nothing  to  say  in  the  first  moment  of 
greeting  but  to  tell  him  that  a  button  was  missing 
from  one  of  his  boots  and  his  coat  was  very 
dusty. 

189 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

His  look  of  utter  astonishment  expelled  my 
apathy,  and  when  his  arms  were  round  me  and  he 
was  showering  kisses  upon  my  face  and  hair,  and 
whispering,  "Marguerite,  Marguerite,  have  you 
nothing  else  to  say?"  in  an  overwhelming  torrent 
it  came  to  me  what  I  had  to  say,  what  I  had  to  tell 
him.  The  reality  of  it  suffocated  me,  I  felt  as 
though  I  were  drowning.  I  could  only  cling  to 
him  murmuring  his  name. 

"Dear  love,"  he  whispered  at  length,  "say  that 
you  love  me!" 

"Love  you!"  I  cried,  finding  speech.  "Love 
you!  Ah,  Dimbie,  it  is  not  for  you  to  ask  such  a 
question.  It  is  /  who  must  put  it  to  you.  Do  you 
love  me  ?     Can  you  always  love  me  —  forever  and 

ever,  whatever  happens  to  me  ?  Whatever  I  am " 

I  broke  off.  "Whatever  I  am,"  I  repeated  me- 
chanically. 

Again  he  looked  at  me,  held  my  face  away  from 
his,  and  surprise  and  bewilderment  chased  across 
his  countenance. 

I  could  not  meet  the  look  in  his  eyes,  and  my  own 
fell. 

He  took  my  hands  in  his  and  held  them  to  his  lips 
very  tenderly. 

"Love  you  as  you  are,  whatever  you  are!    WTiy 

of  course,   that  is  why  I  shall  love  you    always, 

because  you  are  Marguerite.     You  may  grow  blind 

and  deaf,  ahd  old  and  feeble,  but  you  will  always 

190 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

be  my  Marguerite.  That  is  the  beautiful  part,  we 
shall  always  have  each  other  —  to  the  end.  Aunt 
Letitia's  was  a  lonely  life  and  a  lonely  death.  Only 
old  Ann  and  I  with  her.  No  husband  nor  children, 
nor  brothers  nor  sisters,  no  one  very  closely  related; 
only  I,  a  nephew,  and  an  old  servant."  He  settled 
himself  on  the  grass  at  the  side  of  the  couch  and 
leant  his  head  against  my  knee.  "  But  you  and  I 
will  have  each  other  for  ever.  But  I  am  not  going 
to  talk  of  sad  things  —  not  that  Aunt  Letitia's  death 
in  itself  was  sad,  for  it  was  very  peaceful  and  beau- 
tiful —  but  I  want  to  talk  of  the  delights  of  being 
home  again,  of  sitting  in  our  jolly  little  garden  with 
my  own  dear  wife,  and  of  the  said  wife's  stroking 
her  husband's  head."  He  raised  his  blue  eyes  to 
mine  and  pulled  my  hand  down  to  his  hair,  and 
perforce  I  had  to  stroke  it. 

"I  cannot  tell  him  yet,"  I  cried  to  myself.  "We 
must  have  this  beautiful  hour  together.  Later  on 
—  perhaps  when  the  dusk  has  fallen." 

He  sighed  contentedly  as  my  hand  passed  over 
his  crisp,  kinky  hair,  and  took  Jumbles,  who  was 
purring  and  arching  his  back,  on  to  his  knee. 

"Now  tell  me  the  news,  wife,"  he  commanded. 
"  First  of  all,  how  are  you  ?  Has  Rentou  been  to 
see  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  rephed  after  a  pause,  "he  came  the 
other  day." 

"And  what  does  he  think.?" 
191 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*'  He  thinks  "  —  I  caught  at  my  breath  —  *'  that  I 
am  thinner  and  —  not  quite  so  well." 

Dimbie  turned  round  quickly  and  gave  me  a 
prolonged  scrutiny.  Then  he  threw  Jumbles  off 
his  knee  and  got  up. 

"You  are  decidedly  thinner,  Marg.  Let  me  feel 
your  arms." 

*'  My  arms,"  I  said,  trying  to  smile,  *'  were  always 
so  abominably  fat  that  it  is  an  improvement  their 
being  thinner." 

Dimbie  felt  me  carefully,  then  his  mouth  set  in 
a  hard,  straight  Une. 

"  We  must  get  you  away  from  here,"  he  said,  "  to 
the  sea,  or  somewhere  bracing.  By  the  time  you 
are  ready  to  walk  about  there  will  be  nothing  left 
of  you  to  walk." 

"By  the  time  you  are  ready  to  walk  about,"  I 
started.  Amelia  was  coming  across  the  lawn,  and 
heard  Dimbie's  words.  Her  lips  parted.  She  was 
going  to  tell  him. 

"Amelia,"  I  cried,  "come  here  quickly.  The  — 
the  tortoise  is  slipping  down  the  couch." 

"And  that  won't  be  the  first  time,  mum,"  she 
returned,  diving  after  it.  "And  you  won't  have  a 
pocket,  mum." 

"Shake  up  my  cushions,  please,  and — "  I 
whispered  in  her  ear  as  she  leaned  over  me,  "  don't 
tell  the  master  yet." 

She  nodded. 

192 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  What  are  you  two  up  to  ?  "  asked  Dimbie. 

"Amelia  is  bringing  you  some  tea,  and  we  are 
going  to  have  supper  in  the  garden.  I  always  have 
supper  under  the  apple  tree  when  it's  fine,"  I  said 
quickly. 

"  Isn't  it  a  bit  earwiggy  ?  " 

"  It  is ;  but  to  make  up  for  that  there  is  the  night- 
scented  stock,  and  a  corncrake  in  the  field.  Peter 
got  very  angry  with  the  corncrake  and  the  frogs." 

"  By  the  way,  where  are  Peter  and  your  mother  ? 
It  is  very  decent  of  them  to  have  gone  out  and 
left  us  alone  for  a  bit." 

"They  are  gone  home,"  I  replied.  "A  seismic 
movement  of  the  earth's  crust  is  now  taking  place 
at  Dorking." 

Dimbie  laughed. 

"  Not  very  polite  to  me  to  clear  off  just  as  I  was 
returning." 

"  I  think  Peter  feared  you  might  quarrel  with  him." 

"A  nice  way  of  putting  it.  How  did  he  and 
Amelia  get  on  ?  " 

"They  didn't  get  on  at  all.  Amelia  gave  me 
notice  to  leave,  and  Peter  flung  dinner  plates  on 
to  the  floor.  I  think  he  had  been  reading  about 
Savage  Landor's  pitching  crockery  about  when  he 
was  a  Httle  annoyed." 

"I'd  have  pitched  him  out  of  the  house." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "that  was  why  I  felt  glad  you 
were  not  at  home." 

193 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Amelia  appeared  with  the  tray. 

"  How  did  you  like  General  Macintosh,  Amelia  ?  " 
asked  Dimbie. 

She  sniffed  and  tilted  her  head. 

"I  gave  him  his  half-sovereign  back  when  he 
went  this  morning;  that  will  show  you  how  much  I 
liked  him,  sir.  He  nearly  wore  the  mistress  and  me 
out.     I  managed  him  though  in  the  end." 

"  What  did  you  do .? " 

"Well,  sir,  I  peppered  liim  and  Keatinged  him 
just  as  though  he  was  a  house-moth." 

We  both  stared  at  her. 

"Readin'  a  book  made  me  think  of  it;  it  was 
about  a  duchess  and  a  baby,  and  the  baby  kept 
sneezin'.  'This  unll  do  for  him,'  says  I  to  myself. 
So  I  buys  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  -pepper  and  a 
tin  of  Keating's  moth  powder,  and^  I-  sprinkles  his 
pillow  and  hairbrushes,  and  handkerchiefs  and 
pyjamas,  and  shaving-brush  and  his  clothes,  and 
the  sneezin'  which  took  place  after  that  was  some- 
thin'  dreadful.  His  eyes  and  nose  was  runnin',  and 
he  says  he  had  a  dreadful  attack  of  influenza. 
Don't  you  remember,  mum  ?  " 

She  looked  at  me,  but  I  made  no  answer.  He 
was,  after  all,  my  father,  and  I  must  not  sympathise 
with  Amelia  in  her  depravity. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Dimbie  encouragingly,  helping 
himself  to  a  large  supply  of  strawberry  jam. 

"  Well,  he  came  and  danced  about  my  kitchen 
194 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

like  a  hathlete  at  the  circus.  Couldn't  have  be- 
lieved pepper  could  have  made  anythink  so  active, 
and  with  his  gout,  sir.  I  couldn't  get  him  out  of 
the  kitchen  for  hever  so  long." 

*'  And  what  did  you  do  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  just  fetched  the  pepper-pot  and  shook 
it  at  him,  one  shake  and  he  fairly  raced.  And 
Jumbles  began  a-sneezin'  too,  and  rushed  off  to  the 
roof  of  the  shed;  there  was  legs  flying  in  all  direc- 
tions." 

Dimbie  tilted  back  his  chair  and  roared  with 
laughter. 

"  And  was  he  poUte  to  you  after  that  ?  " 

"Pretty  well,  sir.  He  had  to  be.  Every  time 
he  was  going  to  break  out  I  just  casual-like  referred 
to  the  pepper.  I  would  ask  Mrs.  Macintosh  if  there 
was  enough  of  it  in  her  soup,  or  if  the  curry  was 
too  hot." 

"You  are  a  strategist,  Amelia,"  said  Dimbie. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  ^^dthout  comprehension. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"You  can  outwit  the  enemy." 

"Yes,  sir." 

She  moved  towards  the  house.  She  was  wearing 
the  tea-rose  slippers  again.  Dimbie  caught  sight  of 
them. 

"  Why  are  you  wearing  my  slippers  ?  How  dare 
you,  Ameha!" 

195 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

She  stood  nonplussed  for  a  moment,  then,  "The 
mistress  won't  allow  you  to  wear  them,  sir,  and  I 
thought  it  was  a  pity  for  them  to  be  wasted,"  and 
she  disappeared  into  the  house. 

We  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed. 

"She  is  a  good  girl,  and  looks  after  you  well, 
doesn't  she  ?  " 

"  Excellently." 

"  But  I  think  we  will  get  another  maid  —  one 
who  is  more  used  to  invalids." 

"  No  one  but  Amelia  shall  look  after  me ;  besides, 
we  can't  afford,"  I  said  decidedly. 

"  Oh,  we  can  afford  right  enough,  Marg.  Wouldn't 
you  like  one,  dear.'^" 

"  No,  I  wouldn't." 

He  smiled. 

"  Well,  don't  get  so  heated  about  it,  you  shan't  if 
you  don't  like.  You  shan't  do  anything  or  have 
anything  contrary  to  your  wishes." 

"You  are  very  good  to  me,  Dimbie,  dear;"  and 
tears  trembled  in  my  eyes. 

"  Whatever's  the  matter  ?  "  he  said  in  alarm. 

"  I'm  only  tired.  I  have  been  so  excited  about 
your  coming." 

"Poor  darling!"  he  murmured  softly.  "It's  this 
hot  weather  that  is  making  you  so  wear\'.  I'm 
going  to  read  you  to  sleep,  and  you  must  sleep  till 
supper.  \Miat  shall  it  be?"  He  picked  up  one  or 
two  of  the  books  from  the  table.  "  Omar  ?  " 
196 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"No,  I'm  tired  of  Omar" 

*' The  Garden  of  Allah?" 

"No,  beautiful  but  sad." 

"  What,  then  ?  " 

I  lay  and  thought.  Dimbie  had  a  musical  voice; 
he  read  well.     I  wanted  sometliing  to  suit  his  voice. 

"Pilgrirtis  Progress"  I  said.  "It's  on  the 
drawing-room  table." 

He  fetched  it,  and  turned  the  pages. 

"What  part  do  you  fancy?" 

"Anywhere,  so  long  as  I  can  see  you  while  you 
read." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  me,  and  holding  one  of 
my  hands  in  his  he  began. 

Very  little  of  the  beautiful  language  did  I  hear, 
for  I  was  thinking  and  pondering  upon  what  I 
should  say  to  him  later.  How  should  I  tell  him  ? 
How  break  my  news  ?  The  shock  would  be  so 
great;  I  must  choose  my  words  carefully.  "Help 
me  to  say  the  right  thing,"  I  prayed  I  know  not  to 
whom.  "Help  me  to  choose  the  right  words,  and 
let  liim  go  on  loving  me." 

Hs  4:  ih  5l<  ^' 

And  Dimbie  himself  made  it  all  quite  easy  for 
me,  for  before  I  spoke  or  told  him  his  owti  words 
rolled  a  great  load  from  my  heart. 

We  had  finished  supper,  the  darkness  had  fallen, 
and  a  moon  swam  in  a  sky  of  the  deepest  blue. 
Heavy  on  the  warm  night  air  lay  the  perfume  of 
197 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

the  roses,  the  night-scented  stock,  and  the  flowering 
hme,  in  which  a  thousand  and  one  bees  had  been 
humming  throughout  the  day.  Now  they  were 
asleep,  and  the  hme  was  at  rest. 

Dimbie,  with  his  arm  around  me,  was  telHng  me 
of  Aunt  Letitia's  death,  and  how  glad  she  was  to 
go;  how  quietly  and  simply  she  had  talked  of  her 
business  affairs,  of  the  disposal  of  her  money,  of 
her  legacies.  She  had  left  her  house  in  order,  and 
with  the  faith  of  a  little  child  had  set  out  on  the 
long,  unknown  journey  fearless  and  with  a  great 
trust  in  the  mercy  of  God. 

"  At  the  last  she  said  to  me,  '  From  what  you  have 
told  me  I  quite  seem  to  know  Marguerite,  and  I 
should  have  loved  her  I  am  sure.  I  feel  she  is 
good.  Some  good  women  are  very  unlovable;  they 
are  hard  on  the  frailties  of  others.  In  their  un- 
smirched  purity  they  cannot  understand  the  mean- 
ing of  the  words  temptation,  sin;  but  I  do  not  think 
Marguerite  is  one  of  these.  I  should  imagine  she 
would  be  very  tender  towards  those  who  are  weak, 
for  she  understands  and  knows  the  mercy  of  God.'" 

"The  mercy  of  God."  The  words  rang  in  my 
ears  —  dinned  and  hammered  and  beat. 

"/  understand  the  mercy  of  God!  Dimbie, 
Dimbie,  Aunt  Letitia  is  wrong.     I  don't,  I  don't. 

I'm  wicked,  I'm  rebellious,  I "    My  words  broke 

off  in  a  bitter  cry,  and  I  clung  to  him  with  both 
hands. 

198 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Hush,  hush,  my  dear  one,"  he  said,  holding  me 
closely.  "  If  you  are  wicked  it  is  a  poor  lookout  for 
the  rest  of  humanity.  Why,  to  myself,  I  always 
call  you  my  white  ^larguerite.  I  — "  he  paused, 
and  I  could  hear  the  beating  of  his  heart  —  "I  want 
to  tell  you  now  what  you  have  made  of  me,  of  my 
manhood.  I  have  wanted  to  tell  you  ever  since  I 
first  met  you,  but  —  it  is  difficult  to  lay  your  heart 
bare,  even  to  the  woman  you  love,  but  —  I  think 
I'm  a  better  man  now,  INIarguerite.  I  v/as  a  care- 
less, selfish  sort  of  beggar  before,  I  only  thought 
of  myself.  The  down-on-their-luck  fellows  were'' 
down  through  their  own  fault  I  supposed.  The 
women  on  the  streets  disgusted  me;  the  sick  and 
suffering  I  shunned  as  something  repulsive;  the  poor 
and  hungry  bored  me  with  their  whining.  Then  I 
met  you.  You  gave  me  something  priceless  — 
your  love.  I  knevr  I  was  not  worthy  of  it,  but  you 
married  me.  Then  came  your  accident  and  illness. 
Will  you  think  me  cruel  when  I  tell  you  I  was  almost 
glad .''  Now  I  could  do  sometliing  for  you,  wait  on 
you,  take  care  of  you,  cherish  you,  I  thought,  try  to 
make  myself  v/orthy  of  your  love.  And  your  first 
question  was,  Would  my  love  stand  the  strain  of 
your  illness  ?  Ah,  Marguerite,  how  those  words  hurt, 
how  they  cut  me  to  the  heart.  '  She  doesn't  under- 
stand ine,'  I  cried,  'she  has  no  faith  in  me.'  And 
have  you  still  no  faith  in  me  ?  Do  you  not  trust  me  ? 
Marguerite,  wife,  were  you  to  be  stricken  for  life, 
199 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

always  tied  down  to  your  couch,  always  a  helpless 
invalid,  I  should  feel  that  you  were  a  sacred  trust 
given  to  me  by  God  to  love  and  cherish.  And  —  so 
long  as  you  gave  me  your  love  I  should  be  more  than 
content.  Do  you  still  doubt  me,  fear  that  my 
affection  would  waver  ?  Tell  me  that  you  trust  me. 
Speak,  Marguerite." 

And  I  spoke,  very  slowly  at  first.  The  words  came 
haltingly,  brokenly.  I  was  trying  to  keep  the  tears 
back  —  tears  not  of  sorrow  now,  but  of  joy.  As  my 
husband  was  speaking  sorrow  left  me,  and  my  soul 
was  irradiated  with  a  great  and  wondrous  happiness. 
I  forgot  my  tired  body,  it  seemed  to  fade  away,  dis- 
solve, and  only  my  spirit  was  left  behind  singing  a 
Te  Deum.  My  doubts,  my  fears  had  gone.  Dimbie 
would  always  love  me.  I  believed  him  as  truly  as 
I  believed  that  the  sun  would  rise  on  the  morrow. 

"Dimbie,  dear,"  I  said  simply,  "I  do  believe  you, 
and  I  do  trust  you.  Your  words  to-night  have  made 
that  which  I  have  to  tell  you  quite  easy.  I —  shall 
never  walk  again."  My  arm  stole  round  his  neck 
and  I  drew  his  cheek  to  mine.  "No,  don't  speak 
till  I  have  finished.  I  want  to  tell  you  all  about 
it  now  —  everytliing.  Then  we  will  accept  it  as 
the  inevitable  and  never  speak  of  it  again.  You 
say  that  I  am  patient,  good.  When  the  doctors  had 
left  me  —  Dr.  Renton  had  broken  it  to  me  —  I 
railed  against  God.  I  cried  out  in  my  agony,  '  This 
cross  is  greater  than  I  can  bear ! '  I  beat  the  pillows, 
200 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  iVmelia 

tried  to  tear  the  sheets,  struck  my  liead  against  the 
bed.  I  longed  to  die.  I  prayed  to  die.  I  struggled 
to  rise,  only  to  fall  in  unconsciousness  on  the  floor. 
This  unconsciousness,  I  think,  saved  my  reason. 
And,  oh,  the  tears  I  shed,  the  bitter  tears!  I  was 
glad  you  were  not  there,  Dimbie.  In  the  darkness 
of  the  night,  even  as  Job,  I  cried  out,  '  Let  the  day 
perish  wherein  I  was  born!'  Never  to  walk  again 
—  the  words  rang  in  my  ears.  Always  to  lie  still. 
The  wind  and  sea  would  call  me,  but  I  must  lie 
still.  Spring  and  summer  would  call  me,  but  I 
must  he  still,  always  still.  Never  stretch  my  limbs 
in  the  sunshine  or  feel  the  mountain  air  upon  my 
face.  Never  hear  the  wind  in  the  corn,  or  listen  to 
the  soft  falling  of  the  pine-needles  in  the  woods. 
Dimbie,  that  night  has  left  its  mark  upon  my  brow, 
I  fear.  I  felt  as  though  I  had  been  seared  with  a 
hot  iron.  I  quivered  when  they  touched  me  — 
Peter,  mother,  Amelia  —  they  all  came  to  me,  and 
I  cried,  'Leave  me,  leave  me!'" 

With  a  passionate  movement  Dimbie  made  to 
speak,  but  I  laid  my  fingers  on  his  lips. 

"Wait,"  I  said.  "Hush,  dear.  I  don't  feel  un- 
happy now,  that  has  all  gone,  you  have  sent  it  away. 
For  above  all  my  grief  there  was  a  sorrow  which  was 
a  thousand-fold  more  keen,  more  bitter.  I  doubted 
you.  I  doubted  your  love,  and  I  did  not  in  my 
mind  reproach  you,  Dimbie.  'He  is  young  and 
strong,'  I  cried,  'and  I  am  a  cripple.  He  cannot 
201 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

spend  tlie  remainder  of  bis  life  with  a  hopeless 
invalid.  Nature  demands  a  healthy  mate.  I  can- 
not expect  him  to  be  faithful  to  me.' 

"But,  oh,  I  felt  I  could  not  give  you  up!  I  loved 
you  so.  You  were  my  husband.  No  other  woman 
should  have  you.  And  —  I  looked  at  my  face.  It 
is  a  little  pitiful  when  a  woman  comes  to  look  at  her 
face,  I  think.  Is  it  the  men's  fault,  I  wonder  ?  Ah, 
and  what  the  mirror  told  me!  I  put  it  from  me,  and 
I  laughed  mirthlessly.  'That  will  never  hold  him,' 
I  said,  and  so  I  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  my  Geth- 
semane  and  my  cup  was  welluigh  full.  And  — 
then  you  came,  and  I  woke  as  from  a  hideous 
nightmare;  my  sorrow  and  pain  and  anxiety  fell 
from  me  like  an  old  worn-out  cloak.  Dimbie, 
Dimbie,  do  you  know  how  you  smiled  ?  In  that  dear 
crooked,  whimsical,  and  most  loving  smile  lay  a 
woman's  heaven  —  a  heaven  upon  earth  —  and 
without  you  she  wants  no  other  paradise." 

Dimbie's  arms  were  around  me  as  I  finished. 
His  tears  fell  upon  my  face,  but  he  did  not  speak. 
In  each  other's  arms  we  lay,  wrapped  around  by  the 
still,  warm,  scented  night,  and  the  silence  was  more 
beautiful  than  words.  Later  on,  when  he  carried 
me  to  bed,  he  knelt  down  and  said  — 

"I  thank  Thee  for  my  most  precious  wife,  O 
Lord,  so  much  more  precious  now  that  she  is  —  she 

is  —  brok "     He  paused,  and,  getting  up,  went 

quietly  out  of  the  room. 

202 


CHAPTER  XIX 


WE  INHERIT  A  FORTUNE 


I  HAVE  done  with  sadness  forever. 
Who  could  be  sad  on  an  afternoon  such  as 
this  ?  Is  the  witchery  of  spring  with  us  once  more  ? 
we  ask;  for  it  has  rained  for  a  week,  and  now  every 
faded  green  thing  —  leaf  and  grass  and  hedges  — 
are  chortling  with  pride  over  their  fresh,  bright 
raiment.  They  are  as  maidens  of  fifteen  mincing 
in  their  new  frocks. 

The  roses  are  holding  up  their  heads  and  inviting 
you  to  burj  your  face  in  the  heart  of  their  sweetness 
where  some  raindrops  still  remain.  You  gladly  do 
as  you  are  bidden,  and  Amelia,  who  has  brought 
them  to  you,  thinks  you  are  an  eccentric  creature 
to  go  sighing  and  sniffing  and  kissing  their  wet 
petals  in  such  sentimental  fashion. 

"The  sweetest  flower  that  blows,"  you  sing,  and 
she  says  they  are  nothing  of  the  kind,  that  "vi'lets 
take  the  cake." 

"The  master  will  be  home  at  half -past  four,"  you 
tell  her,  and  she  says  you  have  mentioned  this  fact 
at  least  half  a  dozen  times. 
203 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  Only  twice,  Amelia,"  I  say.  *'  You  should  learn 
to  speak  the  truth."  And  she  steps  dehberately  on 
to  the  tortoise,  which  lies  on  the  grass,  in  order  to 
teach  me  that  I  may  allow  it  to  stray  once  too  often. 
I  tell  her  I  am  sorry,  and  she  suggests  that  I  should 
tie  it  round  my  neck  suspended  from  a  ribbon,  and 
people  might  take  it  for  an  enlarged  miniature  of 
one  of  my  relations. 

I  ignore  her  remark,  and  watch  a  thrush  who  is 
having  a  succulent  feast  of  worms  after  the  rain. 
I  wonder  at  the  worms  being  so  easily  deceived  as 
to  imagine  that  the  stamping  of  the  thrush's  small 
feet  is  an  earthquake,  bringing  them  out  of  their 
burrows  with  a  run. 

"Miniatures  are  fashionable,"  she  continues. 

I  am  still  engrossed  in  the  thrush. 

"  That  one  of  you  in  the  drawing-room  is  not  bad, 
but  a  bit  flattering." 

"  Miniature  of  me  .^ "  I  say  lazily,  refusing  to  be 
interested  in  Amelia's  conversation.  "I  have  never 
had  a  miniature  painted  in  my  Ufe.  The  one  to 
which  you  are  referring  is  the  master's  great-aunt, 
painted  when  she  was  a  girl." 

She  walks  on  high,  sloping  heels  to  the  house 
with  her  head  w^ell  up. 

In  about  two  minutes  she  returns  with  ill-con- 
cealed triumph  written  on  her  face,  and  places  a 
portrait  of  myself  on  my  knees.  In  surprise  I  pick 
it  up  and  examine  it  closely.  Yes,  it  is  I,  and  —  my 
204 


Dimbie  and  1  —  and  Amelia 

heart  contracts  painfully  as  I  look  at  it.  Have  I 
that  expression  in  my  eyes  —  now  ?  Surely  not. 
I  put  it  down  hastily,  as  Amelia  is  watching  me. 

"  Don't  you  like  it,  mum  ?  I  shouldn't  be  dis- 
appointed if  it  was  my  portrait.  Not  but  what  I 
thinks  it  flatters  you.  The  master  was  starin'  at 
it  for  half  an  hour  this  morning  —  never  touched 
his  breakfast,  and  it  was  a  fried  sole,  too." 

I  picked  up  a  book.  "  It's  not  bad,"  I  say  care- 
lessly. "  Will  you  go  to  the  village,  Amelia,  and 
bring  me  some  bull's-eyes  —  hot,  pepperminty  ones. 
The  master  is  very  fond  of  bull's-eyes,  and  so 
am  I."  I  evaded  her  glance  and  searched  for  my 
purse. 

"  It's  in  your  pocket,  mum.  I  stitched  one  in  last 
night  after  you  had  gone  to  bed.  Second  seam, 
right-hand  side.  The  house  was  being  that  neg- 
lected while  I  was  lookin'  for  things  —  purses  and 
tortises  —  that  I  took  the  liberty,  mum." 

Now  I  own  to  feeling  excessively  annoyed  with 
Amelia.  I  had  particularly  requested  her  not  to 
stitch  a  pocket  on  to  me  —  anywhere,  and  she  had 
disobeyed  me.  I  had  wondered  what  the  hard, 
knobly  thing  I  was  lying  upon  could  be.  It  was 
my  own  purse.  I  should  not  search  the  second 
right-hand  seam.  Amelia  must  be  shown  that  she 
could  not  disobey  my  commands  with  impunity. 

I  read  my  book  carefully,  and  turned  its  pages 
assiduously. 

205 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"I  am  waiting  for  the  money,  mum."  This  in 
an  injured  voice. 

"There  is  some  in  the  jewel  drawer  in  my 
dressing-table,"  I  said  distantly.  "And  bring  me 
my  crepe  de  chine  gown,  and  kindly  remove  the 
pocket  from  this  one  to-night." 

Amelia's  prolonged  stare  almost  broke  down  my 
gravity. 

"V/hy,  you're  holding  your  book  upside  down!" 

"  And  what  if  I  am  .^  "  I  retorted.  "  If  I  choose  to 
read  a  book  upside  down  that  is  no  concern  of  yours. 
Kindly  go." 

I  smiled  as  she  walked  slowly  to  the  house.  She 
was  a  very  good  girl,  but  must  be  kept  in  her 
place. 

She  was  back  in  a  minute. 

"Here's  your  money,  mum,  and  did  you  mean 
your  grand  new  lavender  gown  wliich  your  moth  — 
I  mean  Mrs.  Macintosh  —  sent  you  ?  " 

"That  is  what  I  meant,"  I  said. 

"But  it's  like  a  bit  of  spider's  web."  She  held  it 
at  arih's-length.  It's  that  delikit  and  lovely,  you'll 
crush  it  to  pieces." 

"That  is  your  fault,"  I  said  quietly.  "You  have 
debarred  me  from  wearing  the  other  till  the  pocket 
is  removed.     Now  help  me,  please." 

With  dexterous  hands  she  got  me  out  of  one 
gown  and  into  the  other,  but  I  was  tired  and  spent 
when  she  had  finished. 

206 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"You  look  like  a  pichir  with  your  gold  hair, 
mum,  though  it's  not  so  bright  as  it  was.     Lavender 

wouldn't  suit  me,  now,  scarlet's  my  colour,  but " 

she  broke  off  with  a  cry. 

"Whatever's  the  matter  now.^"  I  asked. 

"  There's  a  pocket  in  this  one,  mum,"  she  gasped, 
pointing  to  a  gaping  seam. 

I  looked  and  said  nothing. 

"  Dressmakers  is  but  human,  mum.  'Ow  was  they 
to  know  that  you  had  a  prejudice  against " 

"  Amelia,  will  you  hush,"  I  almost  shouted.  "  I 
am  so  tired  of  your  talking  so  much.  Go  and  buy 
the  bull's-eyes." 

"  Will  you  have  this  gown  off  first  ? "  she  asked 
placidly. 

"No,  I  won't.  I  am  not  a  load  of  hay  to  be 
pitched  about  from  pillar  to  post.  And  my  gowns 
are  not  legion." 

"There's  the  white  serge,  and  the  black  heolian, 
and " 

"Amelia,"  I  said,  "if  you  don't  go  away  I  shall 
ring  the  tortoise  for  help  —  help  from  a  stranger 
passing  down  the  lane.  I  am  a  pestered,  servant- 
driven  creature,  and  I  require  as  much  help  as  a 
drowning  man." 

And  she  went  without  another  word  to  me,  but 
muttering  softly  to  herself,  of  which  I  caught  a 
word  or  two :  "  Moidered  with  the  heat !    Poor  thing, 

I  have  known  as  sunstroke "    &c.,    &c.     She 

207 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

disappeared  round  the  broom  bush,  and  I  laughed 
more  than  I  have  done  for  many  days. 

:{;  ^  *  =i:  * 

Dimbie  brought  great  news  with  him.  He  flung 
himself  down  upon  the  grass,  tilted  back  his  hat, 
wiped  his  brow,  and  said  — 

'"  I  have  retired  from  business,  Marg." 

"Well,  that  doesn't  malce  sitting  upon  the  damp 
grass  an  act  to  be  commended,"  I  said  severely. 

An  amused  giggle  came  from  behind  me.  It  was 
Amelia  crossing  the  lawn  with  a  lettuce  in  her  hand. 

"  I  thought  you  were  getting  tea." 

"So  I  am,  mum.  This  here  lettuce  is  for  it,  and 
I  just  catched  what  the  master  said,  'Retired  from 
business!'"  She  put  her  hands  to  her  hips.  "I'm 
thinkin'  there'll  be  a  power  more  work  to  do  now 
—  two  for  lunch  and  two  for  tea  hevery  day.  And 
the  master,  beggin'  his  pardon,  will  be  makin'  more 
mess  with  his  tobacco  ash  than  ever.  It  lies  about 
the  carpets  like  bone  manure  on  a  flower-bed." 

She  continued  her  walk  to  the  house,  brandishing 
the  lettuce  and  squeaking  with  emotion,  without 
giving  us  time  to  reply. 

"Amelia  is  like  a  jack-in-the-box.  She  seems  to 
spring  from  nowhere,"  said  Dimbie  depressedly. 

"  Well,  never  mind.  Go  on  with  what  you  were 
saying,  and  get  up  from  the  grass,  it's  very  damp, 
and  you  are  sitting  on  a  multitude  of  worm-hills." 

"Give  me  the  end  of  the  couch,  then.  Tuck  up 
208 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

your  toes.  Did  you  hear  what  I  said?  I  have 
retired  from  business.  I  have  done  with  the  Stock 
Exchange  forever,  Marg." 

"This  then,  I  suppose,  will  be  our  last  meal. 
We  have  no  private  means." 

"  I  will  feed  you  on  oysters  and  champagne ! " 

"Bread-fruit  and  yams,  more  hkely,  on  a  desert 
island,  where  you  can  obtain  food  for  nothing." 

"Marg,  I  am  worth  £3,000  a  year,"  he  said 
gravely,  and  with  suppressed  eagerness. 

I  looked  at  him  anxiously. 

"Sunstroke  too,"  I  murmured. 

"Do  you  hear?  I  am  worth  £3,000  a  year.  I 
can  give  you  everything  you  want." 

He  raised  his  voice  excitedly.  And  of  course 
Amelia,  who  was  bringing  tea,  tipped  the  hot-water 
jug  over,  and  in  endeavouring  to  catch  it  dropped 
the  tray,  and  then  sat  down  among  the  ruins  and 
began  to  weep. 

"Don't  be  a  fool!"  said  Dimbie.  "Get  up!  it 
doesn't  matter." 

But  Amelia  remained  rooted  to  the  ground, 
sobbing  her  heart  out. 

"  I  shan't  leave,  I  shan't  go,"  she  wailed  at  length, 
looking  at  me  as  though  I  were  contradicting  her. 

"  Of  course  you  won't,"  I  agreed.  It's  not  the 
best  china.  It  doesn't  matter  the  least  little  bit  in 
the  world,  Amelia." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that,  mum.  I  mean  that  if 
209 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

the  master's  got  £3,000  a  year  —  I  couldn't  help 
hearin'  —  there'll  be  no  room  for  Amelia  Cockles. 
You  won't  want  me.  You'll  keep  cook,  kitchen- 
maid,  housemaid,  parlour-maid,  butler,  boots,  and 
have  hentries,  hoary-doves,  cheese-straws,  low 
dresses,  and  dessert  every  day  of  the  week." 

She  reeled  this  off  without  apparently  drawing 
breath,  and  I  too  was  breathless  at  the  contempla- 
tion of  such  a  truly  awful  prospect. 

"Never!"  I  said. 

She  looked  incredulous. 

*'  Never ! "  I  repeated. 

She  sat  up  on  her  heels  and  began  to  collect  the 
broken  pieces  and  pick  up  the  bread  and  butter. 

"  And  were  I  ever  to  indulge  —  I  mean  saddle 
myself  with  the  retinue  of  servants  you  mention  — 
there  would  always  be  room  for  you,  Ameha." 

"Thank  you,  mum,"  she  sobbed,  while  eating  a 
piece  of  sandy  cake  in  complete  unconsciousness. 

"  You  could  be  mistress  of  the  robes,"  said  Dimbie 
cheeringly. 

Her  sniffs  became  less  frequent. 

"You  could  be  lady's  maid,"  I  said.  "But  no 
pockets,  Amelia.     You  understand." 

She  gave  a  watery  smile. 

"I  could  find  the  tortis  and  brush  your  hair  all 
day  long,  mum." 

"Thank  you,"  I  said;  "and  would  you  let  me 
wear  plaits  ?  " 

210 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

She  hesitated,  and  then,  Hke  the  boy  who  stood  on 
the  burning  deck,  remained  faithful  to  duty. 

"  People  might  call." 

"Andif  they  did?" 

"Plaits  is  only  proper  for  little  girls  and  in  bed- 
rooms —  I  don't  like  them  there,  —  but  if  the  master 
doesn't  mind  /  don't." 

Dimbie  broke  into  roars. 

"  Go  and  get  some  more  tea,"  I  commanded,  "and 
make  haste." 

"She's  a  good,  faithful  soul,"  said  Dimbie  when 
she  had  gone,  "and  we  won't  part  with  her." 

"Part  with  her!"  I  repeated  in  astonishment. 
"  I  should  think  not  indeed.  Why,  if  Amelia  were 
to  go  I  should  be  lost;  and  I  should  not  only  lose 
myself,  but  the  tortoise,  my  purse  —  everything  I 
possess.  She  is  my  guide,  my  comforter,  my  solace 
in  my  lonely  hours,  and  tells  me  entrancing  stories 
about  the  Tompkinses.  I  could  not  do  without 
Amelia." 

"  And  yet  I  don't  know  how  she  would  agree  with 
other  servants." 

"Dimbie,  dear,"  I  said  petulantly,  "don't  joke 
any  longer.  I  don't  feel  like  joking  and  Ameha 
dropping  trays;  they  upset  my  silly  nerves." 

"I  am  not  joking,"  he  returned  slowly.     "Aunt 

Letitia  has  left  me  all  her  money.     She  has  lived 

simply,  almost  niggardly,  the  last  few  years,  poor 

old  lady.     The  money  has  been  accumulating  at 

211 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

compound  interest,  and  we  shall  have  an  income  of 
£3,000  a  year  and  a  house  in  Yorkshire.  What  do 
you  think  of  that.  Marguerite  ?  " 

He  put  an  arm  around  me  and  laughed  like  a 
happy  schoolboy. 

"We  shall  be  able  to  buy  you  everything  you 
want.  We  will  take  a  house  by  the  sea,  in  the 
mountains,  in  the  heart  of  one  of  your  dearly-loved 
pine  woods  —  wherever  you  wish  it,  my  princess. 
You've  only  to  hold  up  your  little  finger  and  your 
desire  shall  be  gratified.  We'll  bring  the  roses  back 
to  your  pale  cheeks  in  a  more  bracing  climate.  You 
might  even — get  well  —  nearly  well.  This  garden 
is  too  small  and  hot.     Now  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  love  it  better  than  any  other  spot  in  the  world," 
I  said  earnestly. 

He  looked  at  me  with  disappointment  chasing 
across  his  face. 

Quickly  I  said,  "  Dimbie,  dear,  I  am  delighted  at 
your  good  luck.  It  will  be  too  beautiful  to  have 
plenty  of  money.  I  can  hardly  believe  it  }'et.  It 
seems  too  good  to  be  true.  And  I  think  you  deserve 
every  little  bit  of  it.  You  have  been  to  Aunt  Letitia 
more  than  a  son.  But  —  you  won't  take  me  away 
from  here  just  yet.     I  —  I  don't  want  to  go.' 

"You  don't  want  to  go  to  a  jolly  big  house  vrith 
nice  grounds  and  smooth  lawns.?" 

"  What  lawn  could  be  smoother  than  ours .''  It  is 
like  velvet." 

212 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

He  smiled. 

"  But  it's  only  the  size  of  a " 


"  It's  big  enough  to  hold  the  apple  tree  and  me," 
I  interrupted. 

"You  shall  have  grand  chestnuts,  wind-torn 
oaks,  and  sit  under  a  weeping  willow  in  our  new 
garden." 

"I  want  to  sit  under  my  own  apple  tree,"  I  said 
querulously. 

He  surveyed  it  disdainfully. 

"It  is  so  beautifully  gnarled  and  old."  I  disre- 
garded the  look.  "  And  you  see  it  has  seven  apples 
on  it,  and  I  believe  they  are  going  to  be  red." 

"  We  shall  be  able  to  use  them  for  cider,  perhaps." 
His  voice  was  mocking. 

"And  I  don't  want  to  leave  the  ants;  they're  so 
interesting." 

"  I  suppose  no  other  garden  contains  ants  ?  " 

"  And  look  at  the  roses !  Have  you  ever  seen 
trees  bloom  more  freely  ? " 

"  Roses  —  in  England  —  are,  of  course,  extremely 
rare." 

"Dimbie,"  I  said,  "if  you  mock  me  again  I 
shall " 

"Kiss  me,  sweetheart,"  and  he  held  his  face  to 
mine. 

"I  shall  not  kiss  you  until  you  promise  faithfully 
you  w  ill  not  transplant  me  to  another  garden.     I  —  I 
don't  want  to  go  yet  awhile,  Dimbie." 
213 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"But  what  shall  we  do  with  our  money?  There 
is  nothing  to  spend  it  on  here,"  he  argued, 

"Oh,  I  could  soon  run  through  it,  given  the 
opportunity.  I  should  first  of  all  buy  new  shoes 
for  AmeUa  —  lovely,  respectable,  black,  kid  shoes, 
with  neat  bows  and  low  heels." 

"  Would  they  cost  seven  and  sixpence  ?  "  he  asked 
ironically. 

"Quite,"  I  returned  gravely. 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  lawn  impatiently. 

"  But  tell  me  why,"  he  said  after  a  time,  standing 
still  in  front  of  me,  "why.  Marguerite,  my  poor 
white  daisy,  you  are  so  anxious  to  remain  here  ?  " 

"  Because "     I  paused.     Ah,  no,  I  must  not 

tell  liim  yet;  it  is  not  time.  Besides,  after  all,  it 
may  only  be  my  foolish  fancy.  "Because,"  I  con- 
tinued, "to  take  me  away  from  the  garden  that  I 
love,  from  our  pretty  cottage,  would  be  to  tear  out 
my  heart-strings.  Perhaps  you  will  think  it  senti- 
ment, Dimbie,  but  I  want  to  finish  our  year  here  — 
our  wonderful  year.  Into  the  branches  and  green 
lace-work  of  the  trees,  into  the  dewy  grass,  into  the 
sweet-peas  and  roses,  into  the  beech  —  which  is 
always  so  kind  and  friendly  —  into  the  frog-pond, 
and,  above  all,  into  our  much-loved  apple  tree,  are 
woven  a  thousand  beautiful  associations  and  mem- 
ories. The  memories,  you  will  say,  will  remain  with 
us,  be  with  us  wherever  we  go;  but  they  are  not  yet 
complete.  This  is  only  August.  We  have  four 
214 


Your  will  will  always  be  mine,  Marguerite. 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

months  left  to  finish  our  year.  Into  those  four 
months  may  be  crowded  much  happiness,  much 
simple,  quiet  joy,  and  the  storehouse  of  our  'look- 
ing back '  will  be  full  to  the  brim  and  running  over. 
Let  us  finish  our  year  here  —  you  and  I  and  Amelia 
—  and  then " 

I  turned  away  to  hide  my  face. 

"And  then ?" 

"Why  then,"  I  said  softly,  "I  will  do  whatever 
is  required  of  me." 

He  sat  down  beside  me. 

"Your  will  will  always  be  mine,  Marguerite." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"You  and  everybody  will  turn  me  into  the  most 
selfish  creature  that  ever  breathed  if  I  let  you  have 
your  way." 

"  And  why  not  ?  There  is  not  very  much  left  to 
you  now."  His  voice  was  a  little  bitter,  and  a 
shadow  crept  across  his  face. 

"Hush!"  I  said.  "I  have  nearly  everything  a 
girl  could  possibly  want  —  husband,  home,  friends, 
and  now  riches.  Why,"  I  continued,  trying  to 
divert  his  thoughts,  "why  didn't  you  tell  me  your 
most  important  news  on  the  day  you  returned  home  ? 
Didn't  you  know  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  knew.  The  will  was  read  after  the  funeral. 
I  was  going  to  tell  you.     I  kept  it  as  a  bonnc-bouche 

till  the  night  fell,  and  then  there  was  your  news " 

He  broke  off  and  did  not  finish. 
215 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Afterwards,"  he  said  a  little  later,  "I  waited  till 
my  right  to  the  money  was  confirmed.  My  mother 
was  inclined  to  dispute  it.  She  was  Aunt  Letitia's 
only  sister,  and  considered  she  had  the  first  claim, 
though  she  had  not  been  to  see  her  for  years.  York- 
shire was  too  dull  for  her  after  the  gaieties  of  London. 
Still,  she  seemed  to  think  the  money  was  hers  by 
right."  He  slowly  dissected  a  sweet-pea.  "I  hope 
never  again  to  see  such  a  look  on  any  woman's  face 
as  was  on  my  mother's  when  the  will  was  being 
read.  It  was  very  ugly  and  —  sad.  Poor  mother, 
she  has  missed  the  best  things  of  life."  He  sighed 
deeply.  Amelia's  voice  singing  "I  wouldn't  leave 
my  little  wooden  hut"  came  through  the  pantry 
window. 

"She  too  is  evidently  of  the  same  opinion  as  I," 
I  said,  smiling.     "  She  doesn't  want  to  leave." 

"You  are  in  collusion,  that  is  quite  clear.  Two 
women  are  too  much  for  any  one  man,  especially 
when  one  of  the  women  is  an  Amelia.  We  will  stay 
here  and  see  the  old  year  out,  ]Marg.  Your  wishes 
are  but  commands.  What  is  your  desire  now,  my 
princess  —  to  be  wheeled  nearer  the  sweet-peas  ?  " 
He  stroked  my  cheek  lovingly. 

"  Was  there  ever  a  husband  like  mine  ? "  I  asked 
myself.  And  aloud,  "  Go  and  tell  Amelia  to  sing 
less  loudly,  and  inquire  of  her  the  size  in  shoes  she 
takes." 


216 


CHAPTER  XX 

PROFESSOR  LEIGHRAIL  PAYS  US  A  CALL. 

THE  afternoon  was  waning,  and  Dimbie  and  I 
were  beginning  to  wake  up  and  trying  to 
ignore  the  fact  that  AmeHa  was  watching  us  through 
the  ever  useful  point  of  vantage,  the  pantry  window, 
when  Professor  Leighrail  drifted  through  the  gate, 
round  the  broom  bush,  and  stood  staring  at  the 
cottage. 

That  he  hadn't  seen  us  in  the  profound  shade  cast 
by  the  apple  tree  was  evident  from  his  not  too  polite 
remark  addressed  to  the  cottage  — 

"  Worse  than  I  imagined  —  an  overgrown  pest- 
house  ! " 

We  laughed  aloud,  and  he  walked  to  us  with  out- 
stretched hands.  His  dress  attracted  my  immediate 
attention,  as  it  was  a  little  unusual  —  black  cloth 
trousers,  white  linen  coat,  large,  badly-fitting,  brown 
shoes  with  different  coloured  laces,  and  a  top  hat. 
The  last  he  removed  with  a  flourish,  and  his  first 
observation  seemed  characteristic  of  the  little  I 
knew  of  him. 

"  Guessed  I  should  find  you  like  this,  still  playing 
217 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

at  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  you  look,"  he  put  on  a 
pair  of  spectacles,  "you  look,  seated  against  that 
background  of  gnarled  old  branches,  just  as  foolishly 
sentimental  and  happy  as  any  young  couple  could 
look."  He  did  not  wait  for  any  reply,  but  rattled  on. 
"  I  found  you  without  the  slightest  trouble.  I  knew 
I  should." 

"  Pine  Tree  Valley  is  not  a  large " 

"Certainly  not,"  he  interrupted,  "but  had  it 
been  a  town  and  not  a  village,  I  should  have  found 
you  just  as  easily.  I  said  to  a  villager  —  man  in 
corduroys  — '  Where  is  the  residence  of  a  lady  and 
gentleman  who  smile,  who  live  on  sunshine  and 
walk  on  air.''" 

"  And  did  he  understand  you  ? "  we  asked,  deter- 
mined not  to  smile. 

"  Certainly,  I  spoke  quite  clearly.  He  reflected  for 
a  moment,  scratched  his  head,  and  said,  'First 
turning  to  the  right.  One  Tree  Cottage.'  'That  is 
correct,'  I  said.  'One  Tree  Cottage  is  the  foolish 
and  fantastic  name  they  mentioned  to  me,  now  I 
come  to  think  of  it.'  So  you  see  here  I  am,  and  I 
must  say  that  you  and  your  cottage  are  worse  than 
I  anticipated." 

"Worse!"  Dimbie  ejaculated. 

"Yes,  you  and  your  wife  are  still  at  it,  the  love- 
making.  I  thought  you  would  be  getting  over  it  by 
now.  And  your  cottage  —  isn't  it  below  the  sea 
level  ?  It  looks  to  me  as  though  it  might  have  been 
218 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

built  on  drained  marsh  land,  originally  a  swamp." 
He  spoke  in  the  same  cheerful,  detached  manner  as 
when  he  first  scraped  acquaintance  with  us  in  the 
wood. 

"We  are  two  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
sea,"  said  Dimbie  with  as  much  pride  as  if  he  had 
had  a  hand  in  the  manufacture  of  the  earth's  sur- 
face. "A  valley  does  not  necessarily  mean  below 
the  sea  level,  as  you  must  know." 

The  Professor  laughed. 

"But  isn't  it  extremely  damp  and  insanitary, 
covered  over  with  that  weed  ?  " 

"That  weed  is  clematis." 

"Oh!"  said  the  Professor.  "I  should  root  it  up, 
all  the  same." 

"  But  Marg  —  my  wife  and  I  almost  took  the 
cottage  on  the  strength  of  it." 

"A  foolish  reason.  Did  you  look  into  your 
drains,  young  man  ?  " 

"Amelia  does  that,"  I  broke  in.  "You  know  she 
has  a  drain-bamboo." 

"Of  course,  I  remember.  Very  sensible  of 
Amelia,  most  sensible.     Where  is  she?" 

"On  the  pantry  table." 

"A  curious  place  to  sit." 

"She  has  the  best  view  of  us  from  there." 

He  smiled. 

"I  like  servants  to  be  interested  in  their  master 
and  mistress." 

219 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  She  is  very  interested  in  us,"  I  said. 

"I  should  like  to  see  this  young  person,  and  I 
should  like  to  see  your  drains.     Are  they  trapped  ?  " 

We  both  remained  silent. 

"I  will  have  a  look  at  them,  if  you  don't  mind." 

Dimbie  rose. 

"No,  I  want  Mrs.  Smiling  Face.  Women  ought 
to  know  more  about  the  arrangements  of  their 
homes  than  men." 

He  offered  me  his  hand. 

I  looked  helplessly  at  Dimbie.  It  w^as  so  difficult 
to  speak,  to  tell  him.  My  voice  still  had  an  annoy- 
ing habit  of  breaking  when  I  was  trying  my  hardest 
io  refer  to  my  —  sorrow  in  a  cheerful,  careless 
fashion.  The  tears  did  not  come,  but  —  there  was 
always  the  break.  I  would  be  telling  Amelia  she 
might  have  my  waterproof,  as  I  should  never  re- 
quire it  again.  I  would  start  quite  bravely,  then 
would  come  the  catch.  Will  it  always  be  so,  I 
wonder.'*  Shall  I  never  become  quite  calm  and 
indifferent  ?  It  is  eleven  days  since  Dimbie  came 
home  —  a  rich  man  —  full  of  his  good  news.  Eleven 
days  he  has  spent  with  me,  and  never  once  have  we 
spoken  of  the  cross  we  are  called  upon  to  bear,  for 
it  is  Dimbie's  cross  as  much  as  mine.  Are  we  wise 
to  put  it  behind  us  thus  ?  Should  we  not  feel  it  less 
if  we  bravely  discussed  it "?  And  yet  it  is  my  doing. 
It  is  I  who  willed  it  so,  I  who  bade  Dimbie  never 
to  speak  of  it,  and  now  I  am  almost  sorry.  Some- 
220 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

how  it  seems  as  though  the  silence  makes  it  harder 
to  bear.  Our  skeleton  becomes  more  of  a  skeleton. 
Perhaps  if  we  were  to  discuss  it  freely,  frankly,  we 
should  begin  to  regard  it  in  the  same  way  as  one 
regards  a  smoky  chimney  —  as  tiresome,  annoying, 
but  bearable  if  the  windows  are  kept  open  to  let 
in  the  fresh  air.  Our  windows  left  wide  would  let 
in  a  great  deal  of  happiness  —  love,  comradeship, 
the  pleasure  of  friends,  the  interest  of  books,  the 
everlasting  joy  of  Nature.  I  must  ask  Dimbie 
what  he  thinks.  Dimbie  alv/ays  knows  what  is 
right. 

In  a  few  brief  words  he  explained  to  Professor 
Leighrail  that  I  was  a  prisoner  to  my  couch,  and 
that  he  must  conduct  him  to  the  house.  The 
Professor  started  as  though  to  offer  me  words  of 
sympathy,  and  then  stopped.  Simply  taking  my 
hand  in  his  he  pressed  it  gently,  and  then  followed 
Dimbie  into  the  house. 

"That  was  nice  of  him,"  I  thought.  "I  wish 
Nanty  was  here  that  they  might  renew  their  old 
friendship.  Perhaps  they  —  but  no,"  I  laughed, 
"  they  are  a  little  old,  and  —  Nanty  hates  men." 

Amelia  bore  down  upon  me  with  intense  ex- 
citement. 

"That  gentleman  has  got  his  coat  off,  and  he's 
poking  about  the  drains  with  my  bamboo." 

"It  just  shows  how  prepared  you  were  for  any 
emergency,  Amelia,"  I  said  sympathetically. 
221 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

She  looked  at  me  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye. 
I  never  knew  anyone's  eyes  capable  of  turning  back 
so  far.  "Like  a  halibut's,"  I  murmured.  They 
instantly  became  straight. 

"  What  did  you  say,  mum  ?  " 

"  Notliing,"  I  replied  gently.  "  I  sometimes  think 
aloud." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  which  suggested  she 
wished  I  wouldn't. 

"  Is  he  a  sanitary  inspector,  mum  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"  The  gentleman  who's  doin'  the  drains." 

"  No,  certainly  not.  He's  one  of  the  greatest  and 
cleverest  men  in  England,  and  —  he  killed  his 
mother." 

Ameha  looked  incredulous. 

"He'd  have  been  hung  if  he'd  done  that,  mum 
—  hung  by  the  neck  till  he  was  dead." 

My  servant  is  painfully  dramatic  on  occasions. 

"It  was  an  accident,"  I  hastened  to  explain.  I 
was  afraid  she  might  lock  the  Professor  in  the 
cistern-room,  or  some  other  dark  and  unholy  place. 
"  He  was  driving    an    aerodrome.     An  aerodrome 

is "  but  Amelia  was  not  in  the  least  interested 

in  my  explanation. 

"What's  he  examining  the  drains  for?" 

"  He  is  afraid  we  shall  be  down  with  typhoid." 

Amelia  jumped  into  tlie  air  and  dropped  with  a 
thud  on  to  her  now  decently  flat-heeled  shoes. 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*' Tompkinses'  grandfather  died  of  typhus.'* 

"  On  the  maternal  side  ?  "  I  asked  affably. 

She  took  no  notice  of  my  question. 

"  He  lay  for  twelve  weeks." 

"Well,"  that  was  better  than  standing,"  I  said. 
She  resumed  her  halibut-eyed  expression,  and  — 
left  me. 

Presently  I  heard  her  in  strident-voiced  conversa- 
tion with  the  Professor.  I  could  not  hear  what  they 
said,  but  they  appeared  to  be  very  much  in  earnest. 

Dimbie  came  out  smiling. 

"  One  is  seated  on  the  back  kitchen  table,  and  the 
other  is  working  away  at  the  sink  with  the  bamboo. 
It  seems  a  nasty  job,  but  they  appear  to  be  very 
happy." 

"  Which  is  doing  the  work  ?  " 

"Amelia.  The  Professor  w^anted  to,  but  she 
snatched  the  implement  from  him." 

"Well,  are  we  to  be  down  v/ith  typhoid,  or  is 
there  any  chance  of  our  escaping.-^" 

Dimbie  sat  down. 

"He  doesn't  know  yet,  but  he  is  hoping  for  the 
best.  He's  a  queer  old  cock,  but  I  hke  him  im- 
mensely." 

"  So  do  I,"  I  agreed.  "  I  wish  Nanty  would 
come." 

It  very  rarely  happens  that  one's  wishes  are 
instantly  granted,  but  in  this  particular  case  my 
fairy  godmother  was  in  a  generous  mood,  for  as  I 
223 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

spoke  Nanty's  carriage  drew  up  at  the  gate,  and 
she  swept  down  the  path  and  across  the  lawn  just  as 
the  Professor  emerged  from  the  house  brandishing 
in  his  right  hand  the  drain-bamboo. 

Now  that  Nanty  should,  after  a  lapse  of  nearly 
thirty  years,  meet  her  old  friend  Professor  Leighrail 
armed  with  a  drain-bamboo  would  appear  to  be  a 
situation  very  far  removed  from  romance.  But  to 
me  it  seemed  a  most  delightful  and  natural  pro- 
ceeding, for  Nanty  would  no  doubt  remember  that 
her  one  time  lover  was,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  a  little 
eccentric  in  his  habits.  And  Professor  Leighrail 
would  equally  remember  that  Nanty  with  her  broad 
outlook  on  life  was  not  easily  shocked.  Did  I  say 
"  broad  outlook  "  ?  I  withdraw  it,  for  Nanty  with 
her  hard  and  narrow  views  of  the  genus  man  is 
anything  but  broad  in  one  respect.  Even  her  more 
intimate  knowledge  of  Dimbie  has  not  converted 
her,  and  Peter  pronounces  her  as  "pig-headed." 

Anyway,  her  meeting  with  the  Professor  left  her 
quite  calm  and  unruffled,  while  he,  poor  man,  be- 
cause he  was  a  man,  mopped  his  brow  and  dropped 
the  bamboo  on  to  the  grass  as  though  it  had  been  a 
live  snake. 

I  had  omitted  to  tell  Dimbie  of  their  former 
relationship,  and  he  now  stood  and  stared  at  them 
in  the  same  way  that  Amelia  stares  at  me  when  I 
am  gone,  as  she  terms  it,  "a  bit  dotty." 

Nanty  dropped  gracefully  into  a  wicker  basket- 
224 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

chair,  and  settled  her  mauve  taffeta  gown  com- 
fortably and  elegantly.  The  Professor  with  his  big 
shoes  and  linen  coat  cut  a  poor  figure  beside  her. 

"  Nanty  and  Professor  Leighrail  used  to  know  one 
another,"  I  explained  to  Dimbie. 

"It  was  a  very  long  time  ago,  when  we  were 
young.  I  won't  say  how  long,  because  the  Professor 
might  not  like  it,"  said  Nanty  calmly. 

Here  was  an  opening  for  the  Professor  to  say 
something  gallant,  "That  sJie  was  not  altered  in 
the  least,  that  only  lie  had  grown  old,"  but  he  did 
not  take  it.  The  Professor  is  not  a  party  man.  He 
stared  at  the  bamboo  and  said  nothing.  Was  he 
thinking  of  the  days  when  Nanty  stood  to  him  for 
everything  adorable  in  woman,  or  was  he  thinking 
of  his  lost  Amabella.''  Can  the  woman  you  have 
married  entirely  efface  your  memory  of  the  other 
woman  you  wished  to  marry  ?  And  Nanty.  She 
had  started  and  seemed  distressed  when  I  told  her 
of  the  Professor's  loneliness,  of  his  unkempt  appear- 
ance. She  was  downright  cross  when  I  mentioned 
his  ballooning,  she  had  said  it  was  a  dangerous 
game.  She  had  also  said  she  had  been  a  fool  not 
to  marry  him,  and  she  supposed  that  he  had  grown 
very  fond  of  Amabella.  Now  she  sat  sphinx-like, 
with  a  little  smile  on  her  lips  and  her  hands  folded 
on  her  lap.  The  Professor  might  have  been  a  casual 
acquaintance  she  had  met  the  day  before.  I  longed 
for  strength  to  get  up  and  shake  her. 
225 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Diinbie  recognised  that  the  Professor  was  in 
trouble.  His  embarrassment  and  awkwardness,  not 
to  mention  silence,  were  only  too  evident.  Manlike 
he  came  to  the  help  of  man.  He  plied  him  with 
questions  about  the  drains.  He  did  not  understand 
why  the  Professor  should  be  awkward  and  embar- 
rassed, though  vaguely  he  felt  it  had  something  to 
do  with  the  presence  of  Nanty;  but  whatever  the 
cause,  he  knew  that  the  Professor  required  gentle 
assistance,  and  to  give  this  assistance  he  must  get 
him  on  one  of  his  own  pet  subjects,  either  drains, 
over-eatmg,  or  balloons.  He  selected  drains.  He 
picked  up  the  bamboo  to  attract  the  Professor's 
attention,  and  asked  him  how  long  he  gave  us. 

"  Give  you  ? "  said  the  Professor,  looking  a  little 
dazed. 

"Before  we  are  down  with  tj'phoid."  Dimbie 
was  quite  grave. 

"Oh,  that  depends  on  how  much  or  how  little 
you  flush  your  drains."  The  Professor  was  equally 
grave. 

"  What  do  you  recommend  us  to  use  }  " 

"  Condy's  fluid,  or  any  other  good  disinfectant." 
The  Professor  was  now  becoming  interested. 

"  Chloride  of  lime  is  cheapest,"  cliipped  in  Amelia 
excitedly.  Under  the  pretext  of  rescuing  her  drain- 
bamboo  she  had  joined  the  party,  and  when  I  tried 
to  catch  her  eye  to  inform  her  that  her  services  were 
not  required  her  eye  steadily  refused  to  be  caught. 
226 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Quite  right,"  said  the  Professor,  "chloride  of 
lime  is  the  cheapest." 

"Tompkinses  always  used  it;  their  drains  was 
always  beautiful,  that  sweet  and  fresh  you  could 
have  eaten  your  dinner  in  'em." 

Dimbie  now  tried  to  catch  her  eye,  but  she  still 
wouldn't  be  caught. 

"Amelia,"  I  said  gently. 

She  became  deaf  as  well  as  blind. 

"The  Tompkinses  set  a  good  example  which  all 
householders  might  follow  with  great  advantage  to 
themselves.  It  is  simply  suicidal "  —  the  Professor 
had  now  quite  forgotten  Nanty  — "  it  is  simply 
suicidal  the  manner  in  which  they  neglect  their 
drains,  ignore  their  drains.  And  their  ignorance  on 
drains  is  usually  colossal,  only  exceeded  by  the 
ignorance  and  stupidity  of  the  men  who  lay  them. 
I  quite  expected  to  find  your  main  drain  running 
beneath  your  drawing-room." 

"You  almost  seem  disappointed  that  it  isn't,"  I 
said. 

He  smiled. 

"  Do  you  know  where  it  is  ?  " 

"No^o." 

"  Do  you  know  where  your  gas-meter  is  ?  " 

"  We  haven't  one,  we  use  lamps  and  candles." 

"  Ah,  v/ell,  you  wouldn't  know  if  you  had.  Women 
never  know  these  things."     He  spoke  despondently. 

"  I  am  not  overwhelmed  at  our  ignorance,"  I  said 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

iaughing.  "I  don't  see  why  we  should  know. 
Surely  the  knowledge  of  gas  and  water  is  a  man's 
business  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you  at  all."  He  spoke  with 
extreme  rapidity.  "Women  use  them  as  much  as 
men,  they  should  therefore  understand  something  of 
their  working." 

"  Do  you  know  where  the  pearl  buttons  for  your 
flannel  shirt  are  kept  ?  "  I  asked  quietly. 

Dimbie  suppressed  a  chuckle. 

"  I  didn't  know  I  used  them." 

"How  do  you  suppose  your  shirt  remains  fas- 
tened ?  At  the  present  moment  the  button  on  your 
left  wrist-band  is  cracked  across  the  centre.  You 
must  replace  it  with  a  new  one  on  your  return  home." 

The  Professor  laughed  good-humouredly. 

"  You  had  me  there,"  he  said. 

"  They  always  have  us,"  quoth  Dimbie.  "  Haven't 
you  found  it  so  ? " 

The  Professor  stole  a  sly  glance  at  Nancy. 

"  Not  always,"  he  said  softly. 

He  was  e\ddently  recovering  from  his  embarrass- 
ment by  leaps  and  bounds. 

A  smile  flickered  across  Nanty's  lips.  She  did  not 
return  the  look,  but  she  unbent  ever  so  little. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  women.  Professor  ?     You 

have   told    us   what   you   think   about    drains   and 

creeper-covered  cottages,  let  us  have  your  opinion 

of  the   fair   sex."     Dimbie   looked   wicked.     With 

2^8 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

unusual  perspicacity  he  smelt  a  rat,  and  now  he 
meant  to  run  it  to  earth. 

"What  do  I  think  of  women!  I— I—"  (the 
Professor  was  now  undoubtedly  flurried)  "I  don't 
think  anything  of  them." 

"That  is  a  little  rude  and  unkind  of  you,"  I 
said. 

"Eh,  what.?" 

"That  you  should  not  tliink  anything  of  them. 
Are  they  so  very  unworthy  ?  " 

The  poor  man  looked  worried. 

"I  —  I  think  I  must  go  now." 

"No,  don't  go,"  I  pleaded.  "Do  stay  to  supper. 
We  do  so  want  to  hear  your  views  upon  women. 
We  so  often  hear  them  upon  men"  (I  glanced  at 
Nanty)  "that  it  will  be  quite  refreshing  to  have  a 
change." 

"  And  —  what  are  the  views  you  hear  upon  men  ?  " 
He  also  looked  at  Nanty. 

"That  they  are  all  bad." 

He  laughed. 

"  And  —  /  think  women  are  all  good,"  at  which 
he  bolted  across  the  garden,  called  a  good-bye, 
raised  his  hat,  and  disappeared  through  the  gate. 

"That  is  the  thinnest  man  I  have  ever  seen," 
said  Nanty  somewhat  unromantically. 

"I  don't  think  he  gets  enough  to  eat." 

She  started. 

"  Housekeepers  are  poor  sort  of  creatures  —  sel- 
229 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

fish,  thoughtless,  heartless,"  I  generalised,  not  hav- 
ing known  one. 

Nanty  looked  at  the  sweet -peas. 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  often  hungry." 

She  started  again,  and  getting  up  from  her  seat 
walked  across  the  lawn  and  back  to  me. 

"  Where  does  he  Hve  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 

"The  Grey  House,  Esher.  Why  do  you  want  to 
know?" 

"  Oh  —  just  curiosity." 

"  Perhaps  you  might  ask  him  to  tea  ?  "  I  suggested. 

"I  don't  ask  men  to  tea,"  she  said  crossly,  pick- 
ing up  a  newspaper  and  beginning  to  read. 

"Visitors  don't  usually  read." 

"Humph!" 

"While  you  read  I'll  think,"  and  I  fell  into  a 
reverie,  weaving  many  pleasant  fancies,  in  which, 
strange  to  say,  Nanty  and  the  Professor  were  always 
the  central  figures. 

By  and  by  she  looked  up. 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking  and  smiling  ?  " 

"  Of  —  marriage  and  love." 

"A  foolish  thought,  and  you  cannot  put  the  two 
together." 

"No?" 

"  No  !  "  said  Nanty  decisively. 


230 


CHAPTER  XXI 

JANE  FAIRBROTHER's  IMPENDING  VISIT 

ALL'S  right  with  the  world."  The  long- 
looked-for  letter  from  Miss  Fairbrother  has 
arrived,  and  she  is  coming  to  stay  with  us.  I  read 
out  the  good  news  to  Dimbie  exulantly  and  most 
happily:  — 

" '  Little  old  Pupil,  —  Shall  I  be  glad  to  come 
to  you  ?  Why  my  pulses  quicken  at  the  very 
thought,  and  my  heart  sings  when  I  contemplate  the 
quiet  joy  of  sitting  in  an  English  garden  —  a  httle 
green  garden  under  an  apple  tree  with  Marguerite 
Westover.     Kipling  says:  "O  the  oont,  O  the  oont, 

0  the  Gawd-forsaken  oont!"  But  I  cry,  "O  the 
heat,  O  the  heat,  O  the  hellish,  burning  heat!"  and 

1  conjure  up  before  my  sun-tired  eyes  a  vision  of 
wondrous  golden  cornfields,  ripening  blackberries, 
leaves  turning  to  crimson  and  russet,  dewy,  hazy 
mornings  and  over  all  the  soft,  mellow  September 
sunshine  —  for  it  will  be  September,  that  sweetest 
of  English  months,  wlien  I  arrive. 

"'Everything  I  have  to  say  to  you  must  wait  tilt 
231 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

I  am  at  One  Tree  Cottage.  Of  your  accident  and 
suffering  I  cannot  write,  but  you  will  know  —  know- 
ing me  a  little  —  what  I  feel  for  you.  But  take 
heart.  Twelve  months  will  not  pass  quickly  at 
your  age.  Time  tarries  only  for  the  young  it  would 
seem,  when  for  the  old  —  who  would  have  it  linger 
—  it  flies  all  too  quickly.  But  the  months  will  pass. 
Think,  Marguerite,  if  it  had  been  for  life!'  (This 
I  did  not  read  to  Dimbie,  I  feared  my  voice,  for  it 
still  breaks.)  'As  it  is,  you  will  get  stronger  each 
month.  And  then  a  day  will  come  when  I  shall  take 
you  for  your  first  walk,  if  I  am  anywhere  near  you, 
through  the  stately  pine  trees  you  loved  so  much 
as  a  child.  Do  you  still  love  them  ?  But,  ah,  I 
forgot  —  Mr.  Dimbie  will  be  there  to  take  you. 
There  will  always  be  a  husband  now,  tiresome  man ! 
Forgive  me,  but  I  want  to  step  back  to  the  dear  old 
days  when  I  had  my  little  pupil  all  to  myself. 

"'Till  the  fifteenth  of  September  good-bye.  I 
shall,  on  reaching  London,  travel  straight  to  Pine 
Tree  Valley.  It  is  so  good  of  you  to  ask  me,  and 
much  gooder  of  your  husband. 

"'Always  your  affectionate, 
"'Jane  Faiebrother.' " 

I  smiled  up  at  Dimbie,  who  was  leaning  over  me, 
but  there  was  no  response.  On  his  face  there  was 
an  expression  I  had  never  seen  before.  He  avoided 
my  eyes  and  walked  across  to  the  vdndow. 

232 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"She  seems  a  silly,  sentimental  woman,"  he  pro- 
nounced curtly.  "I  can't  bear  people  who  gush." 
And  he  marched  out  of  the  room  and  shut  the 
door  with  a  bang. 

For  a  moment  I  wondered  whatever  was  the 
matter.  Then  it  dawned  upon  me  that  he  was 
jealous,  and  I  laughed  softly  to  myself.  "Dear 
Dimbie,  goose,  that  you  should  be  jealous  of  anyone, 
when  I'm  —  I'm  —  no  use  now,  makes  me  absurdly 
happy,  ridiculously  puffed  up  with  pride  and " 

Dimbie  was  back. 

"  Will  that  woman  have  meals  with  us  ?  " 

"Where  else  could  she  have  them?"  I  asked. 

"Couldn't  she  have  them  in  the  kitchen  with 
Amelia .'' " 

"  With  Amelia  ?  Miss  Fairbrother  is  the  daughter 
of " 

"I  don't  care  if  she  is  the  daughter  of  an  arch- 
bishop," he  interrupted  with  extreme  gloom.  "I 
am  not  going  to  have  her  always  messing  round." 

"  She  won't  mess  round.  Miss  Fairbrother  is  not 
that  sort  of  person." 

"You  are  prejudiced.  You  see  her  through  the 
rose-coloured  spectacles  of  time.  It  is  eight  years 
since  you  met.  Probably  she  has  degenerated  into  a 
prig."    He  threw  himself  on  to  the  bottom  of  the  bed. 

"Should  I  be  mistaken  in  my  estimation  of  Miss 
Fairbrother,  and  she  prove  to  be  a  prig,  she  shall 
leave  within  a  week.     I  promise  you  that." 
233 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"How  are  you  going  to  get  rid  of  her?"  He 
spoke  eagerly. 

"  A'VTiy,  I  do  believe  you  hope  she  will  be  one." 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  that!" 

"  But  you'll  want  her  to  go  all  the  same  }  " 

"  Yes,"  he  returned  brazenly,  "  I  shall.  She'll  go 
and  spoil  everything,  I  know.  I  was  a  fool  to 
suggest  her  coming;  but  you  seemed  such  dead 
nuts  on  her.  Our  pleasant  afternoons  in  the  garden 
will  be  spoiled.  All  our  jolly  talks  and  reading 
aloud  and  suppers  under  the  apple  tree  will  be  at 
an  end " 

"But  she  can  have  talks  and  supper  under  the 
apple  tree  with  us.  There'll  be  plenty  of  room  for 
three,"  I  interrupted. 

"And  that's  just  what  there  won't  be.  I'll  see 
to  that,"  almost  shouted  Dimbie  in  a  manner  very 
similar  to  Peter,  I  am  ashamed  to  say. 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  rude  to  Miss  Fairbrother  ^  " 

"Yes,  very  rude." 

"Very  well,  then,  I'll  cable  to  stop  her." 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  cable  —  she  sailed  more 
than  a  month  ago  —  why  she'll  be  here  this  week!" 
springing  up. 

"Of  course,"  I  returned.  "Have  you  only  just 
found  that  out.^  Amelia  is  already  airing  the  best 
drawn-thread  linen  sheets." 

"Then  what  did  you  mean  by  saying  you'd 
cable.?" 

234 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  I  meant  I  would  wire  on  her  arrival." 

"But  she  said  she  was  coming  straight  here. 
You  can't  wire."  He  groaned.  "  Oh,  Marg,  Marg, 
what  sJmll  we  do  ?  " 

"  Do  ?  "  I  cried  impatiently.  "  You  talk  as  though 
Miss  Fairbrother  were  a  perfect  gorgon,  instead  of 
the  sweetest  and  best  woman  in  the  world." 

''  That's  just  it."  He  wiped  his  forehead.  "  I 
don't  hke  best  women;  I  like  'em  ordinary.  In 
fact,  I  don't  like  them  at  all  —  no  one  but  you." 

"That  is  exactly  the  way  Peter  talks." 

"I  don't  care.  There  are  worse  people  in  the 
world  than  Peter.  Look  what  we're  going  to  have 
planked  on  to  us  for  weeks  —  months  even." 

"  Hand  me  my  desk ! "  I  commanded  in  a  patient 
voice. 

"  What  do  you  want  it  for  ?  " 

"  To  write  a  telegram  form  for  Amelia  to  take  at 
once.  It  will  be  given  to  Miss  Fairbrother  on  the 
boat  when  it  arrives,  I  should  imagine.  Anyway,  I 
will  try  it.  She  must  be  stopped  from  coming  at 
any  price." 

"It's  no  good  wiring  till  the  boat  is  due." 

"I  don't  know  when  it  is  due.  Please  pass  me 
my  desk." 

"We'd  better  go  through  with  it." 

"  Hand  me  my  desk." 

"Shan't!  Let  the  infernal  woman  come  and  be 
done  with  it!" 

235 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

With  which  exceedingly  ungallant  remark  my 
husband  again  stumped  out  of  the  room,  and  again 
I  lay  and  laughed  and  kissed  the  ugliest  photo'  of 
him  in  my  possession,  for  which  I  have  an  unac- 
countable liking. 

'  And  so  to-day  I  have  hved  more  or  less  under  a 
cloud  —  a  cloud  in  the  shape  of  a  lowering  frown 
on  Dimbie's  face.  But  I  care  not.  I  know  most 
assuredly  that  it  will  disappear  as  Jane  Fairbrother 
walks  through  the  gate.  He  will  like  Miss  Fair- 
brother,  or  Jane,  as  I  always  think  of  her  now. 
He  will  not  be  able  to  help  it.  And  into  our  days 
Jane  will  bring  outside  interests,  a  fresh,  breezy 
atmosphere,  new  thoughts,  new  ideas,  which  I  know 
will  be  good  for  both  of  us.  Most  fearful  am  I  of 
becoming  a  self-centred  invaUd,  tliinking  of  myself 
only,  of  my  ailments,  of  my  weariness,  of  my  some- 
times suffering. 

And  if  I  am  afraid  for  myself,  still  more  des- 
perately afraid  am  I  of  the  invalid  atmosphere  for 
Dimbie.  "It  is  not  natural,"  my  heart  cries  out, 
"that  a  man  young  and  strong  should  be  the  silent 
wdtness  of  everlasting  helplessness  and  weariness." 
When  I  am  pretty  well  and  able  to  be  interested 
in  all  that  goes  on  around  me,  and  can  smile  and  be 
happy,  it  matters  not  for  him;  but,  oh,  the  days 
when  I  am  too  tired  to  do  anything  but  lie  with  my 
eyes  closed!  And  the  nights,  the  long,  long  nights, 
when  I  am  too  restless  to  do  anything  but  keep  them 
236 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

wide  open;  when  my  head  tosses  and  moves  rest- 
lessly from  one  side  of  the  pillow  to  the  other,  and 
when  I  long  with  an  unspeakable  longing  to  be  able 
to  move  my  helpless  body  in  unison!  That  is  not 
good  for  Dimbie  to  see;  it  cannot  be  good.  He  will 
stretch  out  strong,  cool  hands  and  gently  lift  me 
on  to  my  side,  or  turn  my  pillow,  or  hold  a  cooling 
drink  to  my  thirsty  Ups.  He  will  speak  cheerfully, 
he  will  even  try  to  find  a  joking  word;  but,  oh,  the 
heartache  that  must  be  his,  the  weary  heartache! 
And  some  day  —  as  yet  perhaps  the  burden  is  not 
too  heavy,  the  yoke  not  too  galling,  because  out  of 
his  great  love  for  me  he  has  learnt  a  great  patience; 
but  will  not  the  day  come  when  the  burden  will  be 
too  heavy,  when  he  will  falter  or  faint  by  the  way- 
side ?  "  O  God,  take  me  before  that,"  I  whisper 
out  of  the  darkness,  "  take  me  before  he  gets  tired 
of  me!" 

And  so  I  look  for  the  coming  of  Jane  with  a  great 
thankfulness.  The  days  in  the  garden,  which  I 
have  feared  will  become  long  and  monotonous  to 
Dimbie,  will  be  shared  by  one  who,  as  I  remember 
her  with  her  vivid  personality,  was  always  engaging 
and  interesting.  I  have  searched  the  papers  for 
the  shipping  intelligence,  and  for  the  date  upon 
which  the  good  steamship  Irrawaddy  is  due.  I  have 
looked  up  every  possible  train  by  which  she  could 
come  down  to  Pine  Tree  Valley.  The  spare  room, 
Amelia  tells  me,  is  fit  for  the  habitation  of  the  Queen 
237 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

of  England.  And  it  is  a  pretty  room,  with  its 
Indian  matting  floor  coverings,  soft  green  walls 
and  rugs,  wide,  old-fashioned  windows  through 
which  a  white  rose  peeps,  and  airy,  silken  casement 
curtains.  It  seems  a  long  time  since  I  was  in  that 
room.  Some  day,  perhaps,  if  I  should  get  stronger, 
I  will  persuade  Dimbie  and  Amelia  to  carry  me  up- 
stairs, and  it  will  be  like  exploring  a  long-forgotten 
country.  That  Amelia  has  flattened  every  piece 
of  furniture  (as  much  as  you  can  flatten  washstands 
and  wardrobes)  against  the  walls  I  feel  pretty  cer- 
tain. She  objects  to  corners  and  pretty  angles 
disturbing  her  visual  horizon.  She  likes  furniture 
to  be  neat  and  orderly  and  placed  Hke  soldiers  in  a 
row.  She  looks  at  my  bed,  which  I  insist  upon  hav- 
ing in  the  window,  and  sighs  heavily.  I  can  see 
her  fingers  itching  to  bang  me  up  against  the  wall. 
She  suggests  that  I  shall  feel  draughts  and  get  a 
stiff  neck,  be  bitten  by  earwigs  taking  a  walk  from 
the  clematis  wliich  endeavours  to  climb  through 
the  window,  be  sun-struck  in  the  morning,  moon- 
struck at  night,  and  be  blown  out  of  bed  by  the  first 
gale  which  comes  along.  To  all  of  which  I  say, 
"  I  don't  care,  Amelia  " ;  and  she,  figuratively  speak- 
ing, washes  her  hands  of  me,  as  sensible  people  do 
wash  their  hands  of  silly,  contrary  creatures  who 
won't  listen  to  reason. 

Amelia  really  is  no  more  pleased  at  the  prospect 
of  Jane's  visit  than  Dimbie,  although  she  has  so 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

thoroughly  cleansed  the  spare  room.     She  talks  to 
me  in  this  strain  — 

"Miss  Fairbrother's  not  going  to  dress  you. 
mum  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  And  she  won't  be  wanting  to  order  the  dinners  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  she  won't.  Besides,"  with  a  sly 
smile,  "I  thought  /  ordered  the  dinners." 

Amelia  considered  this,  and  with  the  wisdom  of 
a  diplomatist  said  — 

"  Of  course  you  do,  mum." 

"I  thought  so,"  I  agreed. 

Ameha  looked  at  me  —  one  of  the  halibut  looks  — 
and  continued,  "  And  I  won't  have  her  messing  about 
the  kitchen."    Had  she  overheard  Dimbie's  remark  ? 

"Miss  Fairbrother  would  not  dream  of  messing 
about  the  kitchen.  Miss  Fairbrother  is  not  used 
to  kitchens  and  flue-brushes  and  'sweetening' 
ovens  with  lime." 

"Oh,  of  course,  if  she's  a  grand  lady!"  Amelia's 
nose  tilted  in  the  air. 

"  She's  not  a  grand  lady ;  but  her  work  in  life  has 
lain  in  channels  otherwise  than  kitchens.  She 
teaches,  she  used  to  teach  me." 

"Oh !" 

"I  took  up  the  paper." 

"She  can't  know  much,  then!" 

Now  I  am  sure  Amelia  had  no  intention  of  being 
in  the  least  rude. 

239 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"That  depends  upon  what  you  mean  by  much,'* 
I  said. 

She  began  to  walk  away. 

Unaccountably  I  yearned  to  know  her  definition 
of  knowledge. 

"  What  do  you  think  constitutes '  knowing  much'  ?  " 

She  looked  at  me  without  understanding. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  saying  Miss  Fairbrother 
won't  know  much  ?  " 

"Well,  she  won't." 

"  Granted  that,"  I  was  becoming  impatient,  *'  but 
what  sort  of  things  won't  she  know  .'* " 

"She'll  know  nothing  useful." 

"Ameha,"   I  said   despairingly,   "if  anyone  can 
walk  round  and  round  a  circle  you  can." 

She  batted  her  eyes  and  regarded  the  ceiling  in 
complete  vacancy. 

Once  agan  I  tried. 

"Will  you   tell  me  the  things  you  consider  not 
useful?" 

"  Lessons  and  maps  and  'broidery  work." 

"  Maps  ?  " 

"We  was  made  to  do  maps  in  Mile  End  Road." 

"  What  sort  of  maps  ?  " 

"Heurope  in  red  paint." 

"  Don't  you  mean  the  British  possessions  ?  " 

*'  That  was  it  —  America  and " 

"But  America  doesn't   belong   to   us,"    I  inter- 
rupted. 

S40 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

She  closed  her  eyes  in  intense  boredom,  but  I  was 
not  to  be  snubbed. 

"  What  do  you  call  useful  ?  " 

"  Gettin'  bailiffs  out  of  a  house  when  they  thinks 
they's  settled  in." 

"Oh!"  I  said. 

"  I've  got  two  lots  out." 

*'  Was  it  at  the  Tompkinses'  ?  "  I  whispered. 

"Torapkinses  was  as  respectable  as  you,  mum," 
she  said,  mildly  indignant. 

"  Oh,    I   beg   your  —  I   mean    the   Tompkinses' 
pardon." 

"  They  had  salmon  —  lots  of  it." 

"  The  baihffs  ?  "     I  knew  I  had  been  stupid  the 
moment  the  words  were  uttered,  but  it  was  too  late. 

"  I'm  speaking  of  Tompkinses,  mum." 

"Of  course  you  are." 

"Why  did  you  say  bailiffs  then?" 

"A  shp  of  the  tongue." 

Amelia   with   her   eyes    dared   me   to   any   more 
"slips." 

"The  Tompkinses  had  salmon  twice  a  week  and 
manase  once." 

"  Did  it  agree  with  them  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  did.     We  might  afford  salmon  a  bit 
oftener  now  as  we's  rich  before  it  goes  out." 

"  Goes  out  where  ?  " 

"  Goes  out  of  season,  of  course,"  and  this  time  she 
left  my  presence  with  a  most  distinct  snort. 
2il 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Human  nature  is  very  much  alike.  Dimbie  is 
cross  about  Miss  Fairbrother's  coming  because  he 
thinks  liis  nose  with  its  dear  crook  will  be  put  farther 
out  of  joint.  Amelia  is  cross  because  she  thinks  her 
nose  will  be  put  out  of  joint.  And  I  am  sufficiently 
human  and  feminine  to  derive  coHsiderable  joy  and 
satisfaction  from  their  anxiety  about  the  putting  out 
of  their  said  noses. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

A   LITERARY    LADY    HONOURS    ME   WITH    A   VISIT 

ON  several  different  occasions  of  late  has  Amelia 
had  the  pleasure  of  reaching  out  the  best  china 
to  a  shrill  accompaniment  of  "Now  we  shan't  be 
long,"  for  the  few  select  residents  of  Pine  Tree 
Valley  have  begun  to  call.  Six  months  have  elapsed 
since  we  came  to  live  here.  Now  it  will  not  look  like 
"  rushing  at  us."  Most  of  them  are  kindly,  amiable, 
well-meaning  matrons,  who  seem  sincerely  sorry  for 
me,  who  have  sent  me  books  and  magazines,  and 
who  take  an  unfeigned  interest  in  Ameha,  her 
management,  and  her  singing.  "At  any  rate,  she 
has  nice,  respectable  shoes  now,"  I  say  to  m3'self 
with  secret  satisfaction.  And  she  is  enjoying  the 
callers;  she  feels  we  are  getting  on.  She  has  hinted 
at  an  "  at  home  "  day;  she  says  I  must  buy  Japanese 
paper  serviettes  to  lay  on  the  ladies'  laps;  and  that 
rolled  bread  and  butter  is  more  correct  than  flat, 
every-day  bread  and  butter. 

Of   all   my   visitors   only   tuo   stand   out   in   my 
memory  with  any  distinctness:  Mr.  Brook,  the  vicar 
243 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

of  the  parish,  because  he  was  a  man,  and  Mrs. 
Winderby,  because  she  was  hterary. 

As  Mr.  Brook  walked  through  the  gate  Amelia 
simultaneously  flew  out  of  the  front  door,  and  put 
my  slippers  on  to  my  feet  with  a  smart  action, 
rescued  the  tortoise,  and  generally  put  me  in  order. 

On  reflection,  I  have  decided  that  Ameha  must 
take  up  her  position  at  the  pantry  window  each 
afternoon  to  he  in  wait  for  callers. 

Mr.  Brook's  eyes  twinkled  as  he  watched  AmeUa's 
efforts,  and  I  hked  him  for  the  twinkle. 

I  remember  more  of  Mrs.  Winderby's  conversation 
than  I  do  of  that  of  Mr.  Brook,  for  the  latter  was 
not  literary  or  nervous,  or  highly  strung  or  jumpy, 
he  was  just  a  plain  clergyman.  I  don't  mean  plain- 
looking,  but  a  man  without  frills  or  nonsense,  a 
kindly,  breezy,  broad-minded  Christian  gentleman 
with  a  clean-shaven  face  and  a  cultured  voice.  He 
was  apologetic  for  hanng  been  so  long  in  calling,  he 
had  been  more  or  less  ill  for  some  months,  and  his 
wife  did  not  make  calls  without  him ;  she  was  at  the 
seaside  just  now  enjoying  a  well-earned  rest.  He 
was  extremely  sorry  to  hear  of  my  illness;  he  hoped 
I  should  soon  be  better;  he  had  seen  my  husband  at 
church;  and  he  consumed  two  mufiins  and  four 
cucumber  sandwiches  with  his  tea. 

Tennyson's  bad  and  unpoetical  line  in  which  he 
burlesqued  Wordsworth  jumped  into  my  mind: 
"  A  Mr.  Wilkinson,  a  clerygnian."  That,  I  thought, 
244 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

exactly  described  Mr.  Brook;  but  I  felt  he  would  be 
a  good  friend  to  those  who  were  down  on  their  luck. 

I  cannot  dismiss  Mrs.  Winderby  thus  briefly,  for 
she  still  keeps  edging  into  my  thoughts  in  exactly 
the  same  way  as  Amelia  used  to  edge. 

Mrs.  Winderby  wore,  as  Amelia  describes  it,  a 
bed-gown,  and  her  words  were  well  chosen,  for  it 
was  a  bed-gown.  The  bed-gown  was  fashioned  of 
green  velvet  cut  in  a  low  square  at  the  throat.  It 
was  supposed  to  hang  in  full,  graceful  folds,  but  it 
didn't  do  anything  of  the  kind,  for  Mrs.  Winderby 
was  of  rounded,  uncorseted,  somewhat  stout  propor- 
tions, so  the  poor  bed-gown  was  tight  and  strained. 
Around  Mrs.  Winderby 's  throat  was  a  string  of 
amber  beads;  and  her  hair,  which  was  red  and 
towsly,  was  surmounted  by  a  green,  untidy,  floppy. 
Liberty  hat. 

She  sank  on  to  the  low  wicker  chair,  and  said  — 

"  I  have  simply  ached  to  know  you  ever  since  you 
came  to  Pine  Tree  Valley." 

"Oh!"  I  returned,  unable  to  keep  the  surprise 
out  of  my  voice. 

"Of  course,  I  know  you  have  been  here  some 
time;  but,  you  see,  I  am  always  so  jrantically  busy." 

"  Are  people  ever  busy  here  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  If  they  like  to  be,"  she  pronounced;  "it  depends 
on  the  people.     People  who  have  resources  of  their 
own  are  always  busy.     Ycni  have  resources."     She 
pointed  her  parasol  at  me. 
245 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  Oh,  have  I  ?  "  I  said,  surprised. 

"For  you  have  a  temperament." 

Now  I  knew  I  had  a  temperature,  but  I  didn't 
exactly  know  what  she  meant  by  the  other  thing; 
so  I  just  laughed  carelessly.  Had  she  said,  "You 
are  of  a  sanguine  or  pessimistic  temperament,"  I 
should  have  quite  understood;  but  to  say  in  that 
decided  manner,  "You  have  a  temperament," 
simply  nonplussed  me.  And  as  she  evidently  knew 
more  about  it  than  I,  I  didn't  contradict  her. 

"  I  can  see  it  in  the  colour  of  3'our  gown,  in  the 
books  on  your  table  —  dear,  darling  Omar  —  in  the 
way  you  dress  your  hair." 

She  trod  on  Jumbles  as  she  spoke.  Involuntarily 
I  put  my  hand  to  my  head,  but  it  felt  all  right. 

"And  this  is  such  a  sweet  garden.  You  live  the 
simple  life,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"I  live  the  life  of  an  invalid,"  I  replied;  "it  is 
bound  to  be  simple." 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  I  was  told  that  you  were 
a  sufferer  —  most  distressing." 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  as  though  anxious  to  get 
away  from  a  painful  subject.  Did  she  think  that 
I  should  dilate  on  my  affliction  to  her.?  God  for- 
bid! 

"  I  had  been  so  hoping  that  you  would  have  been 
one  of  us." 

I  looked  at  her,  puzzled. 

"That  you  and  your  husband  would  have  been 
246 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

kindred  spirits.  I  thought  I  saw  your  husband  as 
I  came  through  the  gate  ? " 

"Yes,  that  was  my  husband,"  I  said  steadily. 

She  looked  about  the  garden,  as  though  Dimbie 
were  concealed  behind  the  sweet-pea  hedge  or 
hidden  among  the  rhubarb,  and  I  had  difficulty  in 
suppressing  my  laughter. 

"  Even  if  you  are  a  prisoner  —  poor  thing  —  per- 
haps your  husband  would  join  our  little  coterie. 
What  is  his  bent  ?     What  line  does  he  take  ?  " 

Her  conversation  was  mysterious,  but  here  was 
a  plain,  simple  question  easily  understood. 

"The  South- Western  he  used  to  take,"  I  said; 
"  but  now " 

SJie  eyed  me  a  little  coldly. 

"  I  was  not  referring  to  railway  lines,"  she  inter- 
rupted. "  I  meant  in  what  movement,  art,  thought, 
work,  is  he  specially  interested?" 

"  Oh,"  I  said  in  confusion,  "  I  beg  your  pardon. 
I  don't  think  there  is  anything  very  special.  My  hus- 
band is  rather  a  lazy  man.  He  enjoys  walking,  and, 
oh,"  I  added  with  inspiration,  "he  likes  gardening." 

"  Gardening  has  been  overdone,"  she  said  firmly. 
"Charming  subject,  communing  with  Nature  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing;  but  we  have  had  Elizabeth, 
Alfred  Austin,  Mrs.  Earle,  Dean  Hole,  and  a  host  of 
others." 

"My  husband  does  not  commune  with  Nature, 
he  kills  slugs,"  I  retorted.  "  Besides,  none  of  the 
247 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

people  you  have  mentioned  have  gardened  for  us. 
Elizabeth  may  fall  into  ecstasies  of  astonishment  at 
the  unique  sight  of  a  crocus  in  bloom  in  February, 
Alfred  Austin  may  converse  most  charmingly  with 
his  verbenas  and  lavender,  but  they  don't  know 
where  Dimbie  has  planted  our  celery." 

She  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"You  don't  seem  to  understand  me,  but  I  will 
endeavour  to  explain.  You  see,  a  few  of  us  here 
have  formed  ourselves  into  a  Httle  band  of " 

"Musicians,"  I  said  pleasantly.  I  was  hstening 
to  Amelia's  rendering  of  "  Now  we  shan't  be  long," 
and  had  not  quite  followed  the  gist  of  Mrs.  Win- 
derby's  conversation. 

"  I  was  not  going  to  say  '  musicians,'  "  she  contra- 
dicted, "  though  musical  people  are  members  of  our 
club.  We  are  literary  —  I  am  literary  "  (a  pause)  — 
"  artistic,  scientific.  We  have  formed  ourselves  into 
a  club,  and  meet  at  each  other's  houses  once  a 
week." 

"It  sounds  most  interesting  and  improving,"  I 
observed.  "I  know  a  scientific  man.  He  invented 
an  aerodrome  which  killed  his  mother,  and  he  goes 
about  in  a  balloon,  and " 

"We  only  have  gentlemen  in  our  club." 

"But  he  is  a  gentleman.     He  is  the  great " 

She  leaned  forward  and  stared  at  me  intently. 
"What's  the  matter.''"  I  asked,  "an  insect  crawling 
over  me  ?  " 

248 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"More  than  that." 

"More  than  that!"  I  cried,  nervously  clutching 
at  my  gown.     "  Is  it  a  wasp  ?  " 

"Don't  get  excited,"  she  murmured,  leaning 
still  farther  towards  me.  "It  is  most  interesting. 
You  have  a  cleft  under  your  nose  between  your  two 
nostrils;  it  denotes  extraordinary  artistic  sensibility." 

"Oh,  no,"  I  said,  "you  are  mistaken.  That 
mark  is  the  result  of  falling  against  a  sharp-edged 
fender  as  a  child.  I  thought  it  was  practically 
imperceptible.  My  husband  calls  it  a  dimple.  I 
am  afraid  I  am  not  artistic  in  the  sense  you  mean. 
My  husband  and  I  are  not  very  interesting.  We 
are  just  every-day,  ordinary  people." 

"And  you  are  all  the  happier  for  that,"  she  said, 
lifting  the  hair  from  her  forehead  as  if  it  were  too 
heavy.  "You  ordinary  people,  as  you  call  your- 
selves, have  the  pull  over  us  nervous,  liighly-strung, 
thinking  mortals.  Oh,  the  thoughts  that  burn  in 
my  brain!  Sometimes  I  lie  with  my  face  pressed 
to  dear  mother  earth  —  I  put  my  lips  to  the  grass, 
I  murmur  to  her,  I  become  one  with  her,  and  she 
soothes  and  comforts  me  as  a  mother  soothes  a 
tired  child." 

Involuntarily  I  pictured  Mr.  Winderby  finding 
his  rather  portly  spouse  in  her  green  velvet  bed-gown 
rolling  on  the  ground,  and  I  smiled.  I  pretended 
that  I  was  smiling  at  Amelia,  who  appeared  with 
an  advance  guard  of  Japanese  serviettes,  but  Mrs. 
249 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Winderby  detected  my  deceit.  She  frowned  and 
rose. 

At  once  I  felt  conscience-stricken.  Mrs.  Winderby 
was  trying  to  entertain  me,  she  had  taken  me  into 
her  confidence,  and  here  was  I,  a  supercilious  in- 
valid, laughing  at  her.     I  felt  really  sorry. 

"Don't  go,  Mrs.  Winderby,"  I  said  pleadingly. 
"Tea  is  coming,  and  I  should  like  you  to  meet  my 
husband." 

"Master's  in  the  cock-loft,"  said  Amelia,  carrying 
the  three-decker  cake-stand  and  placing  it  in  front 
of  Mrs.  Winderby. 

"In  the  where.'"  I  asked. 

"In  the  cock-loft." 

"Wherever'sthat?" 

"The  cistern-room.  He's  doin'  photigraphs  in 
the  dark." 

Now  I  felt  that  Dimbie  was  acting  very  basely. 
He  had  seen  Mrs.  Winderby  coming  through  the 
gate.  He  had  rapidly  taken  his  bearings,  and  was 
now  in  hiding  in  a  cock-loft. 

"Will  you  tell  the  master  tea  is  ready,  and  that 
I  am  anxious  to  introduce  him  to  Mrs.  Winderby," 
I  said  to  Amelia. 

"Yes,  mum." 

Mrs.  Winderby  sat  down  again  appeased.     She 

graciously  accepted  a  cup  of  tea,  which  she  said 

must  be  just  milk  and  water  on   account  of  her 

nerves,   and   she  skilfully  brought  round  the  con- 

250 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

versation  to  a  man  with  a  name  which  sounded  like 
a  sneeze,  whom  I  knew  nothing  about.  She  talked 
of  him,  quoted  him,  raved  about  him.  "He  was  a 
dear,  naughty  philosopher,  and  his  philosophy 
drove  him  mad,"  she  finished,  and  I  covertly  made 
a  note  on  the  fly-leaf  of  a  book  which  lay  beside 
me:  "Niet  or  Ntiez,  man  who  went  mad."  I 
intended  looking  him  up  in  the  encyclopaedia. 
]Mrs.  Winderby  might  call  and  talk  of  this  sneezy 
philosopher  again,  and  I  must  know  something 
about  him. 

She  detected  me  in  my  note-making. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"I  was  only  jotting  something  down." 

"Your  commonplace  book.'*  I  presume.  Was 
it  something  I  said  ?  My  friends  do  put  down  bits 
of  my  conversation  ready  for  copy." 

She  smoothed  out  her  velvet  gown  with  a  plump, 
white  hand. 

"  Copy  books  ?  "  I  murmured. 

"Certainly  not,"  she  retorted  snappily.  "Copy 
means  matter  for  books  —  anything  interesting  or 
amusing,  that  you  hear  and  see.  Have  you  not  met 
any  literary  people  ?  " 

"No,"  I  returned  humbly.  "But  Amelia  — 
Amelia  is  my  maid  —  knew  a  poet  in  her  last  place; 
he  visited  the  Tompkinses." 

"How  interesting!     I  wonder  if  she  remembers 
his  name,  and  what  he  was  like." 
231 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"I  know  what  he  was  hke,"  I  said,  delighted  to 
have  interested  her.  "Amelia  described  him  to  me. 
He  was  Hke  a  garden  leek  that  had  been  boiled 
without  soda  —  yellowish  looking  I  suppose  she 
meant.  And  a  great  friend  of  mine  once  knew 
an  authoress  —  a  fifth  edition,  Marie  Corelli  sort 
of  writer  —  whose  head  was  like  a  mangel-wur- 
zel." 

I  began  to  feel  more  on  an  equality  with  Mrs. 
Winderby.  Nanty's  and  Amelia's  reflected  glory 
was  raising  my  spirits. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  don't  understand  you,"  my  visitor 
said. 

"  Oh,  because  it  was  so "    I  stopped  abruptly. 

Suddenly  I  remembered  that  Mrs.  Winderby  was 
literary. 

She  looked  at  me  coldly,  she  did  not  help  me. 
She  saw  my  agitation,  she  watched  the  beads  rise 
on  my  forehead,  and  the  only  word  I  could  think  of 
was  "swelled."  I  could  not  say  swelled  —  it  was 
impossible  to  say  swelled.  I  hugged  the  tortoise, 
and  my  slippers  fell  off. 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't  understand.  I  cannot  see 
the  connection  between  a  mangel-wurzel  and  a 
successful  author,"  she  repeated. 

" Why  because,"  I  laughed  feebly,  "I  —  I  — 
they "  And  Dimbie  appeared  from  the  cock- 
loft and  saved  me. 

"  Because  they  are  both  so  nice,"  he  said  affably, 
252 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

offering  a  hand  to  Mrs.  Winderby  and  drawing  up 
a  chair  close  to  hers. 

I^he  situation  was  saved.  Dimbie  was  covered 
with  cobwebs.  His  hands  were  dirty,  but  his 
manners  were  irresistible;  and  that  Mrs.  Winderby 
fell  in  love  with  him  straight  away  gave  me  no 
qualms  of  jealousy. 

"It  is  so  land  of  yoi'  to  come  and  call  upon  my 
wife,"  he  was  saying.  "  She  is  delighted  to  see  any 
of  the  residents  of  Pine  Tre3  Valley." 

Oh,  Dimbie,  Dimbie! 

Mrs.  Winderby  gracefully  crossed  one  velvet- 
clad  leg  over  the  other.  She  was  prepared  to 
prolong  her  visit  indefinitely  now  that  Dimbie 
had  appeared.  Jumbles,  giving  her  foot  a  wide 
berth,  crept  on  to  the  couch  and  snuggled  down 
beside  me. 

"I  have  been  telling  Mrs.  Westover  how  much  I 
had  been  hoping  that  you  would  have  been  one  of 
MS.     We  are  wanting  new  members." 

"Oh!"  said  Dimbie  politely. 

"We  call  ourselves  the  Sesameites." 

It  sounded  so  like  a  tribe  of  Israel  that  I  wanted 
to  laugh,  but  Dimbie's  face  checked  me. 

"We  are  a  little  club  for  self-improvement.  We 
exchange  views,  opinions,  thoughts.  We  help  each 
other  like  the " 

"  Buffaloes,"  came  a  voice  from  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  couch,  but  it  was  certainly  not  mine.  It 
253 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

belonged  to  Amelia,  who  stood  behind  me  regarding 
Mrs.  Winderby  with  parted  lips. 

"  Amelia  !  "  I  said- 

"  Amelia  !  "  echoed  Dimbie. 

"My  brother's  a  buffalo,"  she  said  defiantly, 
while  turning  a  little  red.  "I  though  p'r'aps  he 
belonged  to  the  same  club  as  this  lady,  as  she  says 
it's  to  help  one  another.  You  put  in  so  much 
money  a  week,  and  then  when  you's  ill  you " 

"That  will  do,"  I  said  when  I  could  get  a  word 
in.     "You  can  remove  the  tray." 

She  walked  unwillingly  to  the  house,  and  we 
turned  apologetically  to  our  guest. 

"You  were  saying.?"  said  Dimbie. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  lost  the  thread,"  she  returned 
gloomily. 

"  Perhaps  it  will  come  to  you,"  he  said  hopefully. 
"You  were  talking  about  the  Simeonites." 

"  Sesameites,"  she  corrected. 

I  pinched  the  tortoise  quietly  under  the  sofa 
blanket. 

"  Oh,  yes,  a  sort  of  debating  and  literary  society  ?  " 

"Exactly.  /  started  it.  It  was  uphill  work  at 
first,  but  I  persevered.  And  now  we  have  an 
extremely  interesting  number  of  members.  Some 
of  them  are  quite  celebrities;  for  instance,  it  was  I 
who  wrote  Winged  White  Moths.'" 

"  Really  ?  "  said  Dimbie. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  dropping  her  eyelids.  "It  took 
254 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

a  great  deal  out  of  me  —  I  felt  it  all  so  intensely.  I 
was  quite  exhausted  when  I  had  finished." 

"  How  many  editions  "^  "  I  asked  pleasantly. 

She  did  not  reply,  perhaps  she  did  not  hear  me, 
anyway  she  did  not  reply.  She  drew  on  her  gloves 
and  said  "Good-bye."  Dimbie  conducted  her  to 
the  gate.  I  could  hear  him  entreating  her  to  come 
again,  and  she  sounded  a  little  more  cheerful  as  she 
went  away. 

When  he  came  back  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair 
and  frowned  at  me.  I  returned  it  with  an  engaging 
smile,  but  he  continued  to  frown. 

"  It  doesn't  suit  you  because  of  your  dear  crooks," 
I  said. 

"We  shall  never  have  any  friends,  Marg,  if  you 
behave  like " 

"Do  you  want  friends  Hke  that.^"  I  interposed. 

"/  don't,  but  I'm  thinking  of  you." 

"Well,  don't,"  I  said.  "I  don't  want  any  friends 
like  Mrs.  Winderby.  I  like  clever,  really  clever 
people,  because  they  are  usually  unaffected  and  quite 
simple,  and  can  be  interested  in  you  and  your  doings 
as  well  as  in  their  own.  But  Mrs.  Winderby  is 
artificial,  and  she  poses.  I  don't  like  people  who 
pose.  I  would  infinitely  prefer  unclever,  natural 
women  than  posy  ones.     Wouldn't  you.''" 

"She  was  a  bit  of  an  affected  ass,  certainly." 

"Some  of  the  women  who  have  called  are  very 
nice  —  not  violently  interesting  any  more  than  I  am. 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

but  just  kind  and  simple  and  straightforward.  I 
like  to  know  them,  but  I  don't  want  to  know  Mrs. 
Winderby." 

"And  you  shan't,"  said  Dimbie,  lighting  his  pipe. 
"The  next  time  she  comes  I'll  throw  her  out  of  the 
gate  if  you  like." 

"Dear  Dimbie,"  I  said,  "one  of  your  most  en- 
gaging qualities  is  that  you  so  often  see  things  from 
my  point  of  view.  Now  some  husbands  would  have 
forced  their  wives  to  laiow  that  woman." 

He  laughed,  then  a  tender  expression  crept  into 
his  face. 

"You  see,  you  are  not  like  most  wives." 

"I  am  not  able  to  run  away  from  disagreeable 
people,  you  mean  ?  " 

"No,  I  did  not  mean  that."  A  shadow  now 
superseded  the  tenderness.  "  I  meant  that  you  were 
so  much  more  reasonable  in  your  wishes  than  most 
women." 

I  blew  him  a  kiss. 

"Dimbie,  you  are  prejudiced.  What  about  my 
selfishness  in  insisting  upon  remaining  here  when 
you  are  aching  to  spend  your  money  upon  some 
large  establishment.  You  are  penned  in,  I  know. 
When  I  think  that  if  we  were  away  from  here  you 
might  get  some  shooting,  riding,  golf  tliis  autumn, 
I  am  ashamed  of  my  own  selfishness.  But  —  it 
won't  be  for  long,  that  comforts  me  a  little.  Not 
for  very  long  now." 

256 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  And  then  you  are  willing  to  go  ?  "  he  said  eagerly, 
kneeling  at  the  side  of  my  couch. 

"And  then  I  shall  be  ready  to  go,"  I  said  gently, 
hiding  my  face  on  his  breast. 

"Dear  sweetheart!"  he  murmured,  kissing  my 
hair. 

"Dear  God,"  I  said  in  my  heart,  "once  again  I 
thank  thee  for  Dimbie!" 


2«7 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

I  SURPRISE  DOCTOR  RENTOn's  SECRET 

VERY  blind,  very  dense,  and  downright  stupid 
have  I  been;  and  being  of  the  gender  called 
feminine,  and  presumably  supposed  to  possess  the 
gift  of  scenting  a  love  affair  of  even  the  most  embryo 
growth,  I  am  all  the  more  annoyed  at  my  own 
density. 

Besides,  Dr.  Renton  helped  me.  The  scent  was 
hot.  He  mentioned  India;  he  said  she  had  lived 
at  Dorking,  or  am  I  imagining  he  said  that  ?  Any- 
way, the  trail  was  good,  and  it  was  only  at  five 
o'clock  this  afternoon  that  I  discovered  that  my 
medical  adviser,  Dr.  Renton,  has  been  in  love  with 
my  old  governess,  Jane  Fairbrother,  for  over  ten 
years. 

And  my  discovery  was  only  made  by  accident. 
Had  I  been  staring  at  Dimbie,  as  is  my  customary 
fashion,  instead  of  at  Dr.  Renton,  when  I  announced 
from  the  open  telegram  in  my  hand  that  Jane  would 
arrive  on  the  morrow,  I  should  not  have  seen  the 
red  colour  dye  the  Doctor's  bronzed  cheeks,  and  I 
258 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

should  still  be  wondering  most  probably  who  was 
his  long-loved  and  long-lost  woman. 

"Oh!"  I  said,  blinded  for  the  moment  by  my 
sudden  illumination.     "Oh!" 

Our  eyes  met.  He  smiled,  and  I  knew  that  he 
understood. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  nodding  quietly. 

Dimbie  was  balancing  a  piece  of  cake  on  Jumble's 
nose. 

"  I'm  so  glad." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  simply. 

"What  are  you  glad  about?"  asked  Dimbie, 
looking  around. 

"That  the  sun  is  coming  out  for  Jane  and  Dr. 
Renton  after  the  long,  long  gloom." 

Dimbie  gazed  at  me. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  be  specially  glad 
for  them.  I  think  we  require  the  sun  much  more 
than  they,  as  we  are  lazy  people  who  lie  about  and 
do  nothing.  Besides,  it  has  only  been  dull  for  three 
or  four  days.  You  can't  expect  this  wonderful  sum- 
mer to  go  on  forever.  You've  become  exacting, 
captious." 

"It  has  been  more  or  less  dull  for  eight  years," 
I  remarked  sententiously ;  and  Dimbie,  after  again 
staring  at  me,  returned  to  Jumbles,  as  though  cats 
were  easier  to  understand  than  women. 

The  Doctor  and  I  smiled. 

"I  should  wear  grey  flannel  and  a  soft,  grey  hat 
259 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

—  grey  goes  so  well  with  hair  of  the  same  colour," 
I  observed. 

"It's  not  very  bad,"  he  protested,  putting  his 
hand  to  his  hair. 

"Pretty  bad,"  I  laughed;  "there's  a  little  browm 
left,  but  it's  mostly  tinged  with  grey." 

"  And  my  tie  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  funny  and  almost 
resigned  expression  upon  his  face. 

I  put  my  head  on  one  side  to  consider. 

"  Lavender  would  be  —  too  bridal.  I  think  grey 
or  black  and  white." 

"Whatever  are  you  two  talking  about?"  asked 
Dimbie. 

"  Colours.  We  were  just  considering  what  would 
best  suit  a  man  with  iron-grey  hair." 

"  But  I'm  not  grey,"  said  Dimbie. 

"No,  dear." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  was  just  considering  another  man  for  the 
moment.  Another  man's  appearance  for  an  occa- 
sion on  which  he  is  anxious  to  look  unusually  well 
and  young." 

"He  must  be  a  conceited  ass!"  quoth  Dimbie, 
getting  up  and  strolling  after  Jumbles,  who  with 
arched  back  and  stately  tread  marched  away,  re- 
fusing to  be  turned  into  a  common  performing  clown 
at  any  man's  bidding. 

We  laughed  outright. 

"  May  I  —  may  I  talk  to  you  about  it }  "  I  asked. 
260 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

He  nodded. 

"  When  would  you  like  to  see  her  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  evening  if  you'll  let  me." 

I  considered  this. 

"Say  the  day  after." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  if  —  if  she  says  '  Yes '  she'll  cease  to 
take  any  further  interest  in  me.  I've  grown  selfish, 
and  I  should  so  like  to  have  her  all  to  myself  for 
the  first  evening." 

"Very  well,"  he  agreed  somewhat  grudgingly. 

"You  see,  after  waiting  for  eight  years  one 
day " 

"Will  seem  longer  than  the  whole  lot  put  to- 
gether," he  said  despondently. 

"Well,  come  late  to-morrow  night,  after  supper." 

"No,  I'll  try  to  hold  out."  He  smiled  a  Httle. 
"  If  she  —  well,  if  she  refuses  me,  I  shall  have  had 
all  the  longer  blissful  looking  forward  to  meeting 
her  again.  And  if  she  should  say  '  No '  it  will  serve 
me  right." 

"  I  somehow  don't  think  she'll  refuse  you,  though, 
as  you  say,  it  would  certainly  serve  you  right." 

"Yes,  I  know  it  would."  In  his  eyes  lay  an 
anxious,  almost  wistful  look,  wliich  touched  me. 
His  rugged  face  had  softened  to  a  semblance  of 
youth,  his  voice  was  less  gruff. 

"Women  don't  forget  easily.     If  she  ever  cared 

for  you "  I  began. 

261 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Dimbie  was  returning. 

"Dimbie,"  I  called,  "you  might  climb  over  into 
the  frog-pond  field  and  bring  me  some  marguerites." 

"Aren't  they  over?" 

"If  they  are  bring  me  some  loosestrife  and, 
scabious  and  anything  you  can  find.  I  long  for 
some  wild-flowers." 

Lazily  he  threw  a  leg  over  the  fence  and  disap- 
peared. 

"He'll  be  away  some  time  now.  Dimbie  never 
does  anything  quickly;  he  is  slow  and  thorough, 
and  he  will  endeavour  to  find  the  largest  daisies  in 
the  field." 

"  I  suppose  when  I  —  if  I  were  ever  married  my 
wife  "  —  he  stumbled  over  the  words  —  "  might  ask 
me  to  pick  daisies  for  her.'*" 

"Perhaps.  But  a  great  deal  depends  upon  the 
man.  I  cannot  imagine  my  father  picking  flowers 
for  mother;  he  would  more  liliely  throw  them  at 
her." 

Dr.  Renton  smiled.  He  had  known  Peter  as  long 
as  I. 

"  I  wonder  whether  you  will  find  Miss  Fairbrother 
much  changed.'  She  is  eight  years  older,  you 
know." 

"Of  course,"  he  said  placidly. 

"Women  age  as  well  as  men." 

"Naturally." 

"You  don't  care?" 

262 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  don't  mind  if  she  looks  older  ?  " 

"Certainly  not.  No  man  wants  his  wife  to  look 
old,  but  if  she  does  he  loves  her  none  the  less.  I 
have  not  been  married,  but  I  know  this  is  so.  I 
have  seen  the  most  beautiful  affection  between  quite 
old  men  and  women.  It  is  not  passion,  but  a  love 
that  has  been  tried  in  the  fire  and  emerged  trium- 
phant." 

I  gave  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"Besides,  I  know  Jane's  is  a  face  that  will  have 
become  more  beautiful  with  the  years." 

"Why?" 

"You  will  remember  that  her  mouth  was  firm, 
almost  hard.'  Her  clear  eyes  honest,  but  almost 
defiant  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Well,  they  were.  Perhaps  I  studied  her  features 
more  carefully  than  you." 

"Possibly,"  I  said,  a  little  dryly. 

"  She  had  had  to  fight  her  own  battles.  She  had 
had  to  stand  up  for  herself  against  the  world.  Her 
childhood  had  been  sad  —  an  invalid  mother,  a 
drunken  father " 

"No.?"  I  said. 

"Yes.     Once  she  told  me  all  about  it.     We  were 

alone,  and  she  gave  me  her  confidence.     And  —  I 

was  fool  enough  to  let  that  moment  pass,  though 

every  bit  of  my  being  cried  out  to  me  to  speak  to 

263 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

her,  tell  of  my  love.  But  I  thought  she  wasn't 
ready,  and  then  she  went  away.  But,  as  I  was 
saying,  I  know  she  will  be  more  beautiful  now, 
Hers  was  a  large  nature.  The  years  will  have 
brought  her  a  tenderness  and  sympathy  which  will 
have  written  themselves  on  the  lines  of  her  face. 
Some  hned  faces,  with  their  experience,  are  in- 
finitely more  attractive  than  the  fresh,  smooth  faces 
of  youth.     Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

I  nodded.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  was 
learning  that  the  Doctor  had  another  side  to  his 
character.  He  had  thrown  aside  his  cloak  of  reserve, 
his  professional  manner,  and  I  feared  lest  a  chance 
word  of  mine  might  cause  Iiim  to  withdraw  into  his 
shell. 

"In  some  faces  you  will  see  written  the  history 
of  their  owners'  lives,  dispositions,  characters,  if  you 
look  carefully.  Note  the  little  lines  around  the  eyes 
that  star  away  in  all  directions.  They  mean  that 
the  person  who  possesses  them  has  smiled  much, 
laughed  at  misfortune,  helped  the  world  to  be  the 
brighter  and  better  for  his  or  her  presence.  I 
expect  to  see  those  lines  around  Jane's  eyes,  and  if 
they  are  not  there  I  shall  almost  be  disappointed." 

He  fell  into  a  reverie,  and  I  looked  at  him  thought- 
fully. He  would  make  Jane  very  happy.  "Oh,  I 
hope  she'll  have  him,  I  hope  she'll  have  him!"  I 
whispered  again  and  again  to  myself. 

Dimbie  appeared  over  the  fence. 
264 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Will  those  dor"  he  asked,  putting  into  my 
hand  an  enormous  bunch  of  wild-flowers. 

I  buried  my  face  in  their  fresh  sweetness. 

"We  will  put  them  in  Jane's  room;  she  loves 
flowers." 

"You  will  not  put  them  in  Jane's  room,"  con- 
tradicted Dimbie  crossly.  "I  don't  gather  flowers 
for  every  strange  woman  from  India,  please  under- 
stand that,  Marguerite." 

Dr.  Renton  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  I  have  to  speak  like  that.  Marguerite  will 
make  a  perfect  fool  of  Miss  Fairbrother  if  I  let  her 
have  her  way.  It's  Miss  Fairbrother  this  and  Miss 
Fairbrother  that.  I'm  sick  of  the  very  name  of  the 
woman.  I'll  take  jolly  good  care  that  she  Ls  out  of 
this  house  in  less  than  a  fortnight.  Marguerite 
asked  her  for  an  indefinite  period,  but  it  happens  to 
be  very  definite  in  my  mind."  With  which  he  flung 
himself  across  the  lawn  and  into  the  house. 

The  Doctor  opened  his  mouth. 

"Don't  take  any  notice,"  I  said  quickly,  for  I 
knew  Dimbie  was  watcliing  us  through  the  drawing- 
room  window,  "it's  only  jealousy,  nothing  more; 
he'll  be  all  right  when  she  comes." 

"I'll  marry  her  at  once,"  the  Doctor  pronounced, 
getting  up  from  his  chair. 

"  You  forget  that  she  may  not  accept  you." 

He  blushed  a  little. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said  gruflSy. 
265 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Good-bye,"  I  laughed;  "but  you  might  tell  me 
before  you  go  whether  you  tliink  I  am  any  better  or 
worse.  You'll  remember  you  came  over  to  see  me 
—  perhaps  ?  " 

He  couldn't  help  laughing  too. 

"I'm  av/fully  sorry.  You  see,  the  telegram  came 
just  after  my  arrival." 

"You  needn't  be,  there's  nothing  fresh  to  re- 
port." 

"  Still  tired  ?  "  he  asked  very  gently. 

"  Still  tired  and  waiting  for  a  fresh  breeze  to  blow. 
I  think  I  shall  be  better  then,  Doctor." 

"  God  grant  that  it  may  be  so."  He  raised  my 
hand  to  his  lips.  "You  are  a  staunch  friend. 
Marguerite." 

"Take  care,"  I  said,  my  eyes  suddenly  filling, 
"  Dimbie  is  watching,  and  he  is  in  a  bit  of  a  temper. 
You  will  be  coming  on  Thursday,  and  good  luck  to 
you." 

When  he  had  driven  away  Dimbie  sauntered 
across  the  grass. 

"What  is  that  man  kissing  you  for?" 

"Dimbie,"  I  said,  "you  are  too  comical  for  words, 
and  I  will  return  your  question  with  another.  What 
is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"I  don't  know."  He  lay  down  on  the  grass  and 
leaned  his  head  against  my  couch.  "I'm  cross, 
I  think,  Marg." 

"Yes,"  I  returned,  running  my  fingers  through 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

his  wavy  hair,  "you're  very  cross.     How  long  do 
you  think  you  will  continue  to  be  so  ?  " 

"  Till  Miss  Fairbrother  has  gone.  Marg,  I  don't 
want  to  be  a  surly  beast,  but,  oh,  I  do  wish  I  had 
never  consented  to  that  Indian  woman's  coming." 

"  If  I  tell  you  something  \vill  you  promise  to  keep 
it  secret  —  either  till  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
Thursday,  or  forever  ?  " 

"There's  rather  a  wide  difference  between  the 
two  periods  of  time." 

"Yes,  but  there  is  a  reason  for  it.  Will  you 
promise  ?  " 

"All  right." 

"I  mean  a  faithful  promise.  You  have  a  rather 
trying  habit  of  slipping  things  out.  This  must  be 
an  on-my-oath  promise." 

"On-my-oath,  world- without-end  promise,"  re- 
peated Dimbie. 

"Dr.  Renton  wishes  to  marry  Jane  Fairbrother." 

"The  deuce  he  does!" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  enjoying  his  astonishment. 

"But  he  doesn't  know  her." 

"  He  has  known  her  for  years.  He  knew  her  when 
she  lived  with  us,  but  she  went  to  India  before  he 
could  make  up  his  mind  to  speak  to  her.  Now  he 
is  coming  on  Thursday." 

"And  he  will  take  her  away  just  when  she  is 
going  to  be  useful  to  us,  selfish  beast ! " 

I  smiled  behind  my  hand. 
267 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Dear  Dimbie,"  I  said,  "I  always  thought  men 
the  most  contrary  creatures,  having  lived  under 
Peter's  roof  for  some  years,  but  never  quite  so  con- 
trary as  I  now  find  them  to  be." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  here  you  have  been  making  yourself 
extremely  disagreeable  about  Miss  Fairbrother's 
visit,  and  the  moment  someone  comes  along  and  says 
he  will  remove  the  incubus  you  turn  equally  nasty." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  be  disappointed.  For  my- 
self, I  am  only  too  jolly  thankful  that  she  won't  be 
here  long." 

"But  she  may.  I  am  not  sure  that  she  will 
accept  Dr.  Renton." 

"lam." 

"Why.?" 

"Most  women  accept  the  first  man  who  asks  'em." 

I  swelled  with  indignation,  and  I  rang  the  tortoise 
to  emphasise  my  righteous  anger. 

"The  conversation  is  finished,"  I  said. 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  contradicted  Dimbie. 

"I  repeat  that  it  is."     I  shut  my  eyes. 

"  You've  beautiful  eyelashes  —  look  like  a  fringe 
on  your  cheeks,  and  they  all  curl  up  at  the  ends, 
Marg." 

An  interval  of  silence. 

"  I  didn't  say  you  would  rush  at  a  man.  I  meant 
most  women." 

More  silence. 

268 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  Don't  you  think  I'm  right  ?  " 

"Your  ignorance  of  women  is  only  equalled  by 
your  colossal  conceit.  The  conversation,  I  again 
repeat,  is  at  an  end." 

"And  once  again  I  assert  that  it  isn't.  I  wish  to 
discuss  the  matrimonial  prospects  of  Dr.  Renton 
and  Miss  Fairbrother." 

"You  must  discuss  them  with  yourself." 

"  Can't." 

"You  must  take  back  what  you  said." 

"Shan't." 

I  closed  my  eyes  tightly. 

"  I  shall  go  and  talk  about  them  to  Amelia." 

He  got  up. 

"You  dare!" 

"I  shall." 

"You  promised-     You  can't  break  your  word." 

"It  would  be  quite  easy." 

"Dimbie,  I  never  thought  you  could  descend  to 
such  meanness." 

"You  see  how  little  you  knew  me." 

"Women  are  always  deceived." 

"It's  funny  how  they  rush  at  marriage." 

"Oh,"  I  cried,  "you  are  too  dreadful!  Go 
away  at  once." 

He  laughed  and  croodled  closer  to  the  couch. 

"This  is  our  last  afternoon,"  he  said  ingratiat- 
ingly, looking  up  into  my  face. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
269 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Before  the  she-dragon  comes.  Be  nice  to  me, 
wife." 

I  looked  away.  It  is  hard  to  resist  the  plead 
in  Dimbie's  eyes  and  the  crook  of  his  mouth.  His 
hand  stole  into  mine.  I  took  no  notice.  The  other 
hand  stroked  my  hair  the  wrong  way,  and  —  then, 
after  the  manner  of  fond,  foolish  woman,  I  forgave 
him  and  was  nice. 


270 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MUSINGS    ON    AUTUMN   AND    THE    ARRIVAL   OF    JANE 

ONE  of  those  September  days  is  with  us  in 
which  the  world,  like  Rip  Van  Winkle,  is 
very  fast  asleep.  A  great  stillness  broods  o'er  our 
little  garden.  No  blade  of  grass  or  leaf  of  tree 
moves  or  rustles  to  disturb  the  silence.  Jumbles 
lies  curled  upon  the  warm  front  doorstep;  Dimbie 
lies  asleep  in  a  low  hammock  chair.  The  birds  and 
insects,  and  even  the  ants,  have  joined  in  the  general 
siesta;  and  I,  generally  having  more  time  than  the 
others  in  which  to  indulge  in  flights  to  the  land  of 
Nod,  am  keeping  awake  to  take  care  of  all  my  friends 
of  the  garden.  I  have  to  keep  removing  a  fly  from 
Dimbie's  nose;  to  see  that  Jumbles  doesn't  wake  up 
suddenly  and  pounce  upon  a  drowsy,  unwary  bird 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  broom  bush;  and  to 
turn  an  eye  upon  a  butterfly  which  appears  to  have 
fallen  asleep  in  the  heart  of  a  single  dahlia. 

Over  all  broods  a  haze,  gossamer  and  fairy-light, 
but  still  a  haze  which  ever  follows  in  the  footsteps 
of  sweet  September  —  September  so  quiet,  so  peace- 
ful, so  mellow  and  rounded.     September  is  to  May 
271 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

as  mature  and  still  beautiful  womanhood  is  to  the 
freshness  of  girlhood,  not  so  radiant,  but  so  com- 
plete, so  satisfyingly  lovely.  Spring  somehow,  I 
know  not  why,  gives  me  an  ache  at  the  heart,  creates 
within  me  a  yearning  for  something.  Autumn  does 
not  affect  me  thus.  There  may  be  a  regret,  a 
glance  of  retrospection  at  the  months  which  are 
gone  —  the  beautiful,  bountiful  summer  months  — 
but  the  ache  has  vanished,  the  yearning  has  departed. 

Is  it  that  September,  herself  the  most  peaceful 
of  all  the  months,  bears  in  her  arms  a  gift  for  Na- 
ture's truly  loving  and  understanding  children  — 
the  gift  of  peace,  a  peace  which  passeth  all  under- 
standing.^ Lately  it  has  come  to  me,  this  peace, 
and  I  smile  happily,  hugging  it  to  my  heart.  All 
the  anguish  of  the  last  weeks  —  the  bitter  tears,  the 
pining  for  movement,  the  unutterable  yearning  to 
be  out  in  the  wind,  by  the  sea,  on  the  mountains  — 
has  left  me.  I  am  content  to  lie  in  my  httle  garden, 
to  be  still,  to  commune  with  myself,  and  to  know 
that  Dimbie  is  there. 

And  —  I  am  reading  a  Book,  one  that  I  read  as 
a  child,  as  a  girl,  and  now  as  a  woman.  I  am 
a  woman  now,  for  I  know  the  meaning  of  the 
word  suffering.  In  the  old  days  I  read  this  Book 
as  one  reads  a  lesson  —  dull,  uninteresting,  I  thought 
it.  I  chafed  at  the  chapter  which  Miss  Fairbrother 
obliged  me  to  read  each  day.  Some  parts  struck 
me  as  being  duller  than  others.  There  was  the 
272 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

tiresome  description  of  the  building  of  the  temple, 
and  the  bells  and  pomegranates  —  pomygranates  I 
used  to  call  them  —  and  the  fourscore  cubit  this 
and  the  fourscore  cubit  that.  Miss  Fairbrother 
would  endeavour  to  make  it  interesting,  but  I  was 
unmistakably  bored.  But  now  —  it  seems  curious 
that  I  should  have  ever  thought  it  dull.  I  read  it 
with  deep  intensity.  I  know  as  I  turn  the  pages 
what  is  coming,  but  yet  it  is  all  new  to  me,  a  new 
meaning  falls  upon  my  understanding.  And  there 
are  three  words  from  this  Book  which  of  late  have  con- 
tinually danced  before  my  eyes.  I  have  seen  them 
written  on  the  sky,  on  the  grass,  on  the  pages  of  my 
book.  I  have  heard  the  wind  whisper  them,  the 
flowers  repeat  them,  the  leaves  pass  on  the  refrain  to 
the  waving  corn,  and  yet  I  alone  have  been  unable  to 
say  or  believe  them.  The  words  have  stuck  in  my 
throat,  my  dry  lips  have  refused  to  form  them. 
And  then  a  night  came  when  I  saw  them  written  on 
Dimbie's  face.  He  had  been  depressed,  and  had 
taken  his  sorrow  to  the  pine  woods,  and  when  he 
returned  a  gladness  irradiated  his  countenance,  and 
on  his  forehead,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  were  the  words, 
written  in  letters  of  gold,  "  God  is  Love !  God  is 
Love!"  I  repeated  them  mechanically  to  myself 
over  and  over  again;  and  suddenly  the  mists  cleared 
away,  the  fog  dispersed,  and  I  too  cried,  with  a 
great  sincerity  and  gladness,  "  God  is  Love ! " 

273 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Jane  came  softly  down  the  walk  and  with  finger 
to  lip  bade  me  be  silent. 

"I  want  to  love  and  kiss  you,  Uttle  old  pupil, 
without  any  jealous  eye  to  mar  my  happiness. 
And  I  also  want  to  have  a  good  look  at  your  hus- 
band." 

Dimbie  lay  with  head  thrown  back,  giving  to  the 
garden  a  music  that  was  not  of  the  sweetest. 

"He  is  not  at  liis  best,"  I  whispered;  "his  mouth 
isn't  always  like  that." 

Jane  made  a  comical  little  moue  and  kissed  me 
again.  "  The  same  old  Marguerite,"  and  she  framed 
my  face  in  her  hands. 

"With  a  difference,"  I  said  quietly. 

"With  a  beautiful  difference.  I  don't  wonder  at 
your  husband's  falling " 

"Hush!"  I  said,  "I  am  going  to  wake  him." 

Jane  sat  down  and  watched  with  interest. 

"  Dimbie !  Dimbie,  dear,  would  you  mind  waking 
up?" 

"  He  doesn't  always  sleep  quite  so  heavily  as  this," 
I  explained  apologetically.  "  It  has  been  such  a 
warm,  enervating  day." 

"Dimbie,  will  you  stop  snoring." 

Still  no  answer. 

Loudly  I  rang  the  tortoise,  and  he  was  on  his 
feet  in  an  instant,  blinkingly  staring  at  Jane. 

"It's  not  a  fire  or  an  accident,"  I  said;  "it's 
Miss  Fairbrother." 

274 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

With  the  first  of  Jane's  wholesome,  heartsome 
smiles  I  knew  that  his  conquest  had  begun.  They 
shook  hands,  and  he  apologised  for  being  caught  in 
such  an  attitude. 

"It  enabled  me  to  have  a  good  look  at  Mar- 
guerite's husband,  of  whom  I  have  heard  so  much," 
said  Jane  frankly. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  him  ?  "  Dimbie  asked 
with  a  twinkle. 

"I  must  reserve  my  judgment  till  later.  It  may 
be  a  case  of  cruelty,  desertion,  and  wife  beatmg. 
Appearances  are  so  deceitful.  And  no  faith  should 
be  placed  in  a  young  wife's  estimate  of  her  hus- 
band." 

He  pushed  his  hammock  chair  towards  her. 

"Won't  you  take  this;  it  is  more  comfortable. 
And  were  Marg's  letters  very  tiresome?" 

"Well,  she  didn't  say  much  about  you."  Jane 
wore  an  air  of  "  May  God  forgive  me ! "  "  But  what 
little  she  did  write  of  you  was  mostly  to  the  good." 

Dimbie  laughed,  and  began  to  enjoy  himself. 

"  Before  you  begin  to  talk,"  I  said,  "  would  you 
like  a  wash  or  have  tea  first  ?  " 

"Tea,  please." 

I  rang  the  bell. 

"  I'm  quite  anxious  to  see  the  young  person  with 
the  tea-rose  slippers,"  observed  Jane,  removing  her 
hat  and  running  her  fingers  through  her  soft,  lux- 
uriant hair,  which  was  parted  on  one  side. 
275 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"She  doesn't  wear  them  now.  We  have  had  a 
lot  of  money  left  us,"  I  said,  studying  the  expressive 
face  in  front  of  me,  which  had  changed  so  little. 

"Does  she  run  about  barefoot.^" 

"Oh,  no!  What  I  mean  is  that  we  can  afford 
now  to  give  her  nice,  kid  shppers."  I  struggled  to 
keep  my  mind  on  Ameha,  and  not  on  Jane's  pretty, 
cool,  grey  linen  gown  which  was  inset  with  beautiful, 
Irish  crochet  lace. 

"  It  isn't  mercerised  cotton,"  I  thought  aloud. 

"  It's  one  of  my  best  frocks,"  said  Jane,  following 
my  eyes.  "  Do  you  think  it  suitable  for  my  years, 
Marguerite  ?  " 

"I  should  wear  it  to-morrow,"  I  said  impulsively, 
and  then  stopped  awkwardly. 

"  Why  to-morrow  ?  "  she  asked  in  surprise.  "  Are 
you  having  a  party  ?  " 

"Only  Marg's  medical  m " 

"Dimbie,"  I  shouted,  "will  you  go  and  see  if 
tea  is  ready  ?  I  can't  think  what  Amelia  can  be 
doing."  I  looked  at  him  feverishly.  He  sat  open- 
mouthed  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  remembered, 
nodded  his  head,  and  set  off  to  the  house  with  a 
run.  I  could  see  from  Jane's  expression  that  she 
thought  we  were  very  odd  people. 

"  What  —  what  do  you  think  of  the  sunflowers  ?  " 
I  asked  jerkily. 

"I  think  they  appear  to  be  very  handsome,  self- 
respecting  sunflowers,"  she  replied. 
276 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence. 

"What's  the  matter,  Marguerite?"  she  asked  at 
length.  "  The  atmosphere  is  charged  with  a  myste- 
rious something  which  I  cannot  understand." 

"  I  will  tell  you  on  Thursday." 

"On  Thursday?" 

"Yes.  Oh,  here  is  Amelia  with  tea!  This  is 
Amelia." 

Jane  gave  her  a  smile,  showing  her  even,  white 
teeth.  This  was  returned  by  a  look  of  hostility. 
AmeUa  was  not  to  be  won  by  any  smile.  She  was 
not  a  weak  man,  and  she  prided  herself  on  her 
even  balance. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  said  Jane. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  said  Amelia  in  a  tone  of  "  Go 
to  perdition  with  you ! " 

But  Jane  had  no  intention  of  doing  so,  at  any 
rate,  till  she  had  had  some  tea.  She  handed  some 
money  to  Amelia. 

"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  give  this  to  the 
man  who  is  bringing  my  trunks  along?" 

"  W^ere  there  no  cabs  ?  Most  people  takes  cabs." 
Now  she  was  being  distinctly  impertinent.  I  felt 
very  angry  with  her. 

"Please  do  as  you  are  told,"  I  said  wrathfully, 
"  and  without  comment." 

She  was,  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  been  in 
my  service,  impressed  by  my  anger,  and  at  once  she 
changed  her  tactics. 

277 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*'The  day  would  be  hot  I  was  thinkin'  for  Miss 
Fairbrother  to  walk." 

"You  were  thinking  nothing  of  the  kind.  Stick 
to  the  truth."  And  to  my  consternation  she  imme- 
diately did  as  she  was  told  and  stuck  to  it. 

"  I  don't  want  no  visitors." 

"Amelia!" 

Jane  laughed  unconcernedly. 

*'  I  shouldn't  either,"  she  said,  looking  at  Amelia 
in  a  most  friendly  manner.  "I  quite  sympathise 
with  you.  You  think  I  am  going  to  meddle  and 
interfere  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"You  think  I  am  going  to  poke  into  the  kitchen 
and  do  things  for  your  mistress  that  you  have  been 
in  the  habit  of  doing  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Amelia,  surprised  at  Jane's  intui- 
tion. 

"  Well,  you  may  make  your  mind  quite  easy  on  that 
score.  To  begin  with,  I  am  far  too  lazy  to  interfere. 
I  like  people  to  work  for  me  if  they  will.  And  I 
think  it  would  be  a  mean  thing  to  do  when  you  have 
served  Mrs.  Westover  so  faithfully  and  lovingly.  I 
shall  not  usurp  your  place."  Jane's  voice  was  most 
gentle  now,  full  of  sympathy  and  kindliness.  "  But 
if  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  help  you  with  my  bed 
and  dust  my  room.  I  shall  make  a  little  extra  work, 
of  course,  and  I  am  sure  you  must  have  a  great  deal 
to  do." 

278 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Amelia  wavered,  rocked  about  with  indecision  for 
a  moment,  and  was  won. 

"  Thank  you,  miss,  it's  very  good  of  you,"  was  all 
she  seemed  able  to  say.  And  as  a  relief  to  her 
feeUngs  she  slapped  the  tortoise,  picked  up  Jane's 
gloves  from  the  ground  and  returned  to  her  kitchen. 

"Tea  is  going  cold,"  said  Dimbie.  "First  game 
of  the  rubber  to  Miss  Fairbrother." 

"  You  don't  say  the  rubber,  I  notice,"  observed 
Jane. 

"  I  know  Amelia." 

"I  fancy  though,  without  any  undue  conceit, 
that  I  shall  win.     I  like  that  girl." 

"So  do  we,  but  that  doesn't  give  us  the  power 
of  managing  her." 

"  I  don't  want  to  manage  her.  My  simple  desire 
is  that  she  shouldn't  manage  me,  and  will  permit  me 
to  remain  with  you  for  a  short  time." 

"You  shall  certainly  do  that,"  said  Dimbie. 
"  Marg  has  been  counting  the  days  to  your  coming." 

"  And  you  ?  "  she  asked  slyly. 

"I  —  I  have  been  doing  likewise,"  said  my 
husband  brazenly. 

She  laughed,  a  merry,  incredulous  laugh. 

"And  yet  I  fancied  I  had  two  rubbers  to  play 
and  hoped  to  win." 

"Really?"  said  Dimbie.  "Only  one  as  far  as  I 
know,  and  the  first  game  is  already  yours." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said  simply.  "  I  under- 
279 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

stand,  and  am  grateful.  I  did  so  want  to  see 
Marguerite  again." 

"You  could  not  be  more  grateful  than  I  am  for 
your  coming,"  he  returned  earnestly.  "  The  thanks 
are  on  our  side."     And  I  knew  he  meant  it. 

"A  rubber  and  a  half  for  Jane,"  I  whispered  to 
the  tortoise.  And  I  stretched  out  a  hand  and  held 
Dimbie's  closely  in  mine. 


280 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AN   ENGAGEMENT,    AND    I   TELL   JANE   MT   STORY 

THE  two  of  them  came  down  the  garden  path 
hand  in  hand.  The  sun  caressed  Jane's 
small,  dark  head.  She  wore  the  pretty,  cool,  grey 
gown,  and  in  her  belt  was  tucked  a  red  rose  no 
redder  than  her  cheeks.  They  stopped  in  front  of 
the  couch,  and  I  held  out  my  hands  to  them. 

"I  know,"  I  said.  "You  needn't  tell  me.  I'm 
so  glad.  You  two  dear  things.  It  is  beautiful,  and 
—  I  like  your  suit,  Dr.  Renton ;  my  sartorial  instinct 
is  good,  I  think." 

"  I  don't  tliink  it  was  the  suit  —  altogether,  but 
perhaps  I'm  vain."     He  looked  gravely  at  Jane. 

She  was  a  little  mystified. 

"I  was  telling  Dr.  Renton  the  other  day  that  I 
considered  grey  flannel  was  very  becoming  to  men 
with  grey  hair." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "I  didn't  notice  what  he  was 
wearing." 

"There!"  said  the  Doctor. 

"I  don't  feel  abashed.     Unconsciously  she  would 
take  in  the  general  effect." 
281 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Jane  wandered  to  the  sweet-pea  hedge  and 
hummed  a  little  tune. 

"  I  don't  like  a  conversation  conducted  in  asides," 
she  called.     "When  you  two  have  finished  tell  me." 

Dr.  Renton  regarded  her  with  pride  and  love 
written  on  every  line  of  his  face. 

"You  see,  she  has  grown  beautiful!"  he  said. 

"Do  you  think  so.^" 

"  Certainly.     Don't  you  ?" 

"Well,  no.  I  haven't  thought  so;  but  I  will  look 
more  closely.     Are  the  lines  there  ?  " 

"  A  few,  but  not  so  many  as " 

"  You  had  expected  .'* " 

"  As  I  had  hoped,"  he  finished  with  a  smile. 

"Jane,"  I  called,  "the  Doctor  is  disappointed  not 
to  find  you  wrinkled." 

"  Did  he  wish  me  to  keep  him  in  countenance  ?  " 

"Jane,  you  must  learn  to  be  respectful.  The 
Doctor  is  older  than  you." 

"I  cannot  learn  such  a  lesson  at  my  time  of  life. 
My  pupils  have  respected  me." 

"  I  shall  be  your  master,  not  your  pupil." 

"These  are  early  days  to  adopt  such  a  tone, 
sir. 

"You  might  both  be  in  your  teens,"  I  observed. 
And  they  laughed  as  happily  as  though  they  were. 

A  hammering  at  the  drawing-room  window 
attracted  our  attention. 

"It's  Dimbie,"  I  explained.  "You  see,  he  is  a 
282 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

little  cross.  He  went  to  look  up  something  for  me 
in  the  encyclopaedia,  and  I  told  Amelia  to  lock  him 
in.  I  was  afraid  he  might  worry  you,  and  perhaps 
follow  you  about." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  he  knew "  Jane  broke 

off,  turning  a  vivid  scarlet. 

What  was  I  to  say  ?     Here  was  a  pretty  dilemma. 

"I  let  it  out  the  other  day,"  said  the  Doctor 
bravely. 

"Did  you  know  when  you  invited  me  here?" 
Her  eyes  were  full  of  fire,  but  her  voice  was  quiet. 

"No,"  I  said  triumphantly,  "not  a  word.  And 
Dr.  Renton  didn't  exactly  tell  me;  I  found  out. 
He  was  here  when  your  telegram  came." 

"  Mr.  Westover  will  certainly  break  the  window," 
she  said,  somewhat  inconsequently. 

He  was  waving  and  war-whooping  like  an  Indian. 
Amelia  came  to  the  door. 

"  Shall  I  let  him  out  now,  mum  ?  "  she  asked. 

" At  once'"' 

When  he  appeared  I  said  — 

"Dimbie,  you  should  try  to  be  more  controlled." 

"Well,  of  all  the  cheek " 

"It  wasn't  cheek,  but  common  sense,"  I  inter- 
posed gently.     "  I  told  Amelia  to  do  it." 

"But  why.^  You  may  be  the  mistress  of  One 
Tree  Cottage,  but  I " 

"  Come  here,  and  I  will  whisper  to  you."     I  pulled 
his  sunburnt  face  down  to  mine. 
283 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Your  hair  tickles!"  He  was  still  a  little  cross. 
I  pushed  it  back. 

"I  was  afraid  you  might  follow  those  two  about 
and  stare  at  them,  and  I  wanted  them  to  get  en- 
gaged and " 

Dimbie  raised  his  head.  (Jane,  followed  by  the 
Doctor,  had  strolled  away.)  Light  broke  across 
his  face. 

"  And  they've  done  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  an  elegant  way  of  putting  it.'* 

"They've  been  jolly  sharp." 

"  Dr.  Renton  has  been  here  over  half  an  hour." 

"  And  where  have  I  been  ?  " 

"Studying  the  encyclopaedia.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber I  asked  you  to  find  me  the  sneezy  man  ?  Who 
was  he  ?  " 

"Nietzsche,  a  bally  German  who  didn't  know 
what  he  wanted." 

He  crossed  the  lawn,  and  I  noticed  that  the  grip 
he  gave  the  Doctor's  hand  was  pretty  severe.  To 
Jane  I  heard  him  say:  "It's  made  Marg  awfully 
happy.  Her  eyes  are  shining,  and  she  thinks  she 
has  brought  it  aU  about  —  a  regular  match-maker ! " 

I  could  not  catch  Jane's  reply,  but  presently  they 
returned  to  me. 

"You  will  be  wanting  to  walk  and  wander  down 

the  lanes,  as  Dimbie  and  —  as  all  lovers  want  to 

wander,  and  you  shall  go  at  once.     The  evening 

is  lovely.     There  is  a  cornfield  in  the  lane  after  you 

284 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

have  passed  the  four  cross-roads.  Dimbie  has  told 
me  of  it.  The  sun  is  setting  —  sun  on  a  golden 
cornfield  is  a  thing  of  beauty  —  and  later  there  will 
be  a  moon.  Please  remember  that  supper  is  at 
eight  o'clock." 

They  laughed,  and  Jane  without  any  more  ado 
put  on  her  hat. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  observed  Dimbie,  as  our  eyes 
followed  them  round  the  broom  bush  and  through 
the  gate,  "that  they  are  a  little  old  for  the  game." 

"That  is  so  like  a  man  who  never  knows  or 
understands  any  tiling." 

"Oh!"  He  settled  himself  in  a  deck-chair  and 
lighted  his  pipe. 

"You  see,  the  hearts  of  Jane  and  the  Doctor  are 
still  quite  fresh  and  young." 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "love  has  kept  them  so.  As  they 
walk  down  the  lane  they  are  back  in  their  '  twenties.' 
The  years  have  slipped  away.  What  matters  if 
their  faces  are  tired,  if  some  of  the  brightness  has 
gone  out  of  their  eyes,  if  some  of  the  freshness  has 
left  their  voices  .^  They  are  beautiful  to  each  other, 
that  is  sufficient." 

"You  sound  very  wise,  little  wife." 

I  nodded. 

"I  am  wiser  than  you  in  a  few  things  because  I 
am  a  girl.     Only  women   understand  that  which 
pertaineth  to  love.     Men  are  very  ignorant." 
285 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Dimbie  smiled  and  smoked  for  a  while  in  silence, 
while  I  thought  of  the  happiness  of  Jane,  We  had 
had  a  long  and  intimate  talk  the  previous  evening. 
Dimbie  had  left  us  and  gone  to  the  fields  in  search 
of  mushrooms  at  my  special  request.  Mushrooms, 
I  had  felt,  were  the  one  thing  needed  to  complete 
our  evening  in  the  garden,  for  we  were  to  sup  under 
the  apple  tree;  and  Dimbie  on  his  return  was  to 
hang  out  our  Chinese  lanterns  and  dot  fairy  fights 
about  the  lawn. 

"  You  only  want  to  get  rid  of  me,"  he  had  laughed. 
*'I  am  convinced  that  there  will  not  be  a  single 
mushroom  in  Surrey  after  the  long,  dry  summer." 

"If  I  want  to  get  rid  of  you,"  I  returned,  "it  will 
be  for  the  very  first  and  last  time  in  my  life;  but  I 
want  to  talk  to  Jane  for  a  little  while  —  just  by  our- 
selves." 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  jealously  and 
suspiciously. 

"  You  don't  mind  just  for  once,  dear." 

"No,  not  very  much,  though  I  don't  approve  of 
secrets  between  women." 

"  Good-bye,"  I  said,  patting  his  cheek,  "and  bring 
plenty  of  mushrooms." 

Jane  sat  on  a  low  chair  with  her  arms  pillowed 
behind  her  head. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "tell  me  all,  tell  me  your  story 
from  the  very  beginning.  You  have  suflFered  much, 
I  can  see  it  in  your  face,  but  you  are  happy.  Tell 
286 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

me  where  you  met  your  husband.  I  may  say  at 
once  that  I  Hke  him  tremendously." 

"Jane,"  I  said,  "my  heart  goes  out  to  you  at 
your  words.  To  like  Dimbie  shows  that  you  possess 
a  fine  discrimination." 

She  smiled  and  said,  "I  am  waiting." 

And  so  in  the  gentle  hush  of  evening,  in  the  fading 
light,  in  the  sweet  fragrance  of  the  garden,  I  told 
her  all.  Of  Dimbie's  and  my  first  meeting,  of  our 
engagement,  of  our  marriage,  of  my  great  happiness 
—  I  lingered  on  that.  The  pain  which  had  been 
mine  when  I  recalled  those  radiant  days  had  gone. 
I  could  speak  of  them  now  calmly  and  without  any 
break  in  my  voice.  Those  were  days  pulsating  with 
joy,  these  were  days  of  a  great  peace.  Then  briefly 
I  touched  upon  my  accident  and  suffering,  of  our 
hopes  only  to  be  dashed  to  the  ground,  of  my  sub- 
sequent despair,  of  my  doubts  as  to  the  steadfast- 
ness of  Dimbie's  love,  followed  by  the  radiance  of 
complete  faith  and  understanding.  I  told  her  of 
Aunt  Letitia's  money,   of  my  desire  to  remain  at 

our  cottage  till  the  end   of   the  year  because 

Should  I  tell  her  why  ?  Should  I  tell  her  that  which 
I  had  even  withheld  from  Dimbie  ?     Jane  was  so 

sensible,  so And  out  of  the  gathering  darkness 

it  came  to  me  that  she  was  crying  silently,  despair- 
ingly. 

"Why,  Jane,"  I  whispered,  "you  are  crying. 
You  must  not  do  that,  Dimbie  might  come,  and  it 
287 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

would  distress  him.  Listen,  I  am  not  unhappy 
now.  Do  not  think  I  am  sorry  for  myself,  for  — 
perhaps  I  cannot  make  it  clear  to  you,  words  are  so 
futile,  but  —  one  morning  just  lately,  one  wonder- 
ful dawn  when  God  Himself  took  out  His  pallet 
and  brush  and  touched  the  clouds  with  softest  grey 
and  pearl,  and  pink  ahd  rose,  when  the  first  note  of 
a  still  sleepy  bird  broke  the  silence,  when  the  flowers 
shook  the  dew  from  their  fresh  morning  faces,  some- 
thing came  to  my  room  on  footsteps  light  as  thistle- 
down, something  came  to  my  bed  on  which  I  had 
spent  a  long,  weary,  sleepless  night,  and  laid  a 
gentle,  healing  hand  on  my  aching  brow,  and  sorrow 
and  pain  and  the  fear  of  death  fell  from  me,  and  I 
was  comforted.  You  will  say  I  was  fanciful,  imag- 
inative, that  my  mind  was  overwrought  from  fatigue ; 
but  no,  I  was  calm  and  clear-eyed,  and  I  knew  that 
it  was  Peace  that  had  come  to  me.  I  opened  my 
arms  wide  and  held  it  closely,  never  to  let  go.  '  Dear 
Comforter,*  I  whispered,  'you  shall  never  leave  me, 
for  now  I  know  a  happiness  which  is  not  of  this 
world,  but  is  of  a  life  which  is  eternal.' 

"  I  lay  very  still  thinking  about  it.  I  must  tell 
you  that  during  my  weeks  of  suffering  I  had  lost  my 
faith,  I  had  lost  God.  I  felt  that  He  had  treated  me 
too  cruelly.  '  He  is  not  a  God  of  love,'  I  had  cried. 
'I  cannot  believe  that.  I  have  done  with  Him.' 
So  as  I  lay  watching  the  dawn,  waiting  for  the  sun, 
I  wondered  and  wondered  again:  'Has  God  for- 
288 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

given  me  —  forgiven  my  rebellion,  taken  pity  on  my 
loneliness  ? '  For  when  Dimbie  has  said  his  prayers 
at  night  with  his  hand  in  mine,  and  entered  into  His 
presence,  I  have  felt  so  lonely  and  cried  in  my  heart, 
'  Lord,  let  me  find  Thee  again,  for  where  Dimbie  is 
there  I  want  to  be.' 

" '  Perhaps  He  has  forgiven  me,  and  wants  me  — 
even  me,'  I  said  to  myself.  With  my  eyes  on  the 
glowing  east  I  waited  and  watched  for  the  sun.  At 
last  he  appeared,  and,  as  though  looking  for  me,  sent 
a  warm  shaft  of  light  across  my  body.  And  from 
me  came  the  words,  '  God  is  good !  Allah  is  great !  * 
And  I  laughed  aloud,  and  Dimbie  stirred  and  woke. 
*What  is  it,  girl.'*'  he  asked.  'Have  you  had  a 
good  night.'*' 

"'A  bad,  bad  night,  but  such  a  dawn.  Look! 
Here  from  my  comer  I  can  see  all  the  beauty  of  the 
world  —  shell-pink  softness,  the  red  glory  of  sunrise, 
a  distant  cornfield  touched  with  gold,  dewdrops  on 
gossamer  web. 

"  *  O  world  as  God  has  made  it,  all  is  beauty; 
And  knowing  this  is  love,  and  love  is  duty. 
What  further  may  be  sought  for ' 

And  Dimbie  put  a  gentle  arm  around  me  and  drew 
my  head  on  to  his  shoulder.  'And  have  you  no 
further  need  to  ask  for,  sweetheart  ? '  he  inquired. 

"'Not  one,'  I  whispered.  'I  am  beginning  to 
understand  things  —  just  a  little,  and  I  am  at 
peace.'" 

289 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

I  stopped.    Night  had  fallen,  my  story  was  finished. 

Jane  got  up  —  I  could  not  see  her  face  —  and  she 
walked  across  the  lawn  to  the  sweet-pea  hedge.  No 
sound  broke  the  stillness  of  the  garden. 

Presently  she  returned  and  knelt  in  front  of  me. 

"Little  old  pupil." 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"I  want  to  say  something  to  you.  Most  people 
say  things  when  it  is  too  late.  I  don't  want  to  be 
too  late.  I  want  to  tell  you,  now,  that  you  have 
given  me  all  the  happipess  I  have  had  for  the  last 
eight  years.  An  Indian  station  is  a  dreary  place  for 
a  plain,  unattached,  working  woman.  I  should 
have  become  hard,  dull,  apathetic  but  for  your  love, 
little  Marguerite,  but  for  your  admiration  of  my 
poor  qualities.  Your  bright,  loving  letters  came 
each  month  as  a  draught  of  fresh  water  to  a  tired, 
thirsty  traveller.  Your  faithfulness  cheered  me  on 
my  way.     Your  symp " 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more,  Jane,"  I  broke  in. 

"And  but  for  you  I  should  never  have  returned 
to  England." 

"And  you  would  have  missed  happiness,  the 
crown  of  your  life." 

She  paused  and  looked  up  into  my  face. 

"Happiness!"  she  said  a  little  bitterly,  "the 
crown  of  my  life!  I  don't  know  what  you  mean. 
I  only  know  that  you  suffer;  I  have  Just  heard  your 
story." 

290 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  Ah,  don't  speak  of  that !  There  are  other  things. 
There  is  love." 

"Love  and  I  passed  each  other  long  years  ago," 
she  said.  "Love  mocked  me,  laughed  at  me,  left 
me  alone." 

"  But  he  may  return." 

*'It  is  unlikely.  I  am  not  young.  But  I  don't 
want  to  talk  of  myself.  I  want  only  to  speak  of  you. 
A  little  while  back  you  said  —  you  said  that  the  fear 
of  death  fell  from  you.     What  did  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Just  what  I  said,"  and  I  bent  my  head  and 
kissed  her.     "  I  think  I  hear  Dimbie." 

He  came  down  the  lane  whistling,  through  the 
white  gate  —  a  dark,  mysterious  figure, 

"  Three  mushrooms ! "  he  called  gaily.  "  One  for 
each  of  us.  Now  I  must  light  up.  You  are  all  in 
the  dark." 

"We  are  all  in  the  dark,"  said  Jane  hopelessly. 

"And  the  light  is  coming,"  said  I. 


291 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

DIMBIE  TAKES    PETER  AND   AMELIA   DJ    HANB 

PETER  and  mother  are  here  again,  and  Jane 
has  been  transferred  to  the  bachelor's  room. 

Peter  is  gouty,  irritable,  chilly  —  for  October  is 
with  us  and  giving  us  sharp  little  frosts  —  and 
sulphurous  in  his  language. 

Amelia  wears  a  patient,  stand-by-me-O-Lord  air; 
and  Dimbie  is  crossly  resigned  to  the  inevitable. 

He  came  to  me  this  morning. 

"  I  am  going  to  kick  Peter." 

"Yes,"  I  agreed,  drawing  my  blue  nightingale, 
which  mother  has  made  me,  more  closely  round 
my  shoulders. 

"  I  am  going  to  pitch  him  out  of  the  front  door." 

I  nodded. 

"  You  have  no  objection  ?  " 

"Well,  choose  a  flower-bed  for  liis  descent." 

"But  I  want  to  hurt  him." 

"I  quite  sympathise  wdth  you  in  your  desire, 
which  is  most  reasonable.  But  were  he  to  alight 
on  the  gravel  path  he  might  break  his  leg,  and  then 
^e  should  be  obliged  to  have  him  here  for  weeks." 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Then  I  shall  certainly  not  choose  the  path,"  said 
Dimbie  decisively. 

"  That  is  right.     Wliat  has  he  been  doing  ?  " 

"Everything  he  shouldn't  do.  Your  mother  is 
reduced  to  tears,  and  Ameha  is  flinging  the  sauce- 
pans and  kettles  at  the  kitchen-range." 

"She  is  certainly  making  a  noise." 

Dimbie  sat  down  on  the  bed  and  knit  his  brows. 

"  I  am  sorry,  dear,"  I  said  sympathetically.  "  I 
couldn't  help  his  coming;  I  didn't  invite  him." 

"I  know.  Naturally  your  mother  wanted  to  see 
you." 

"Yes.  Poor  mother!  To  live  for  three  months 
without  any  respite  upon  the  edge  of  a  crater  subject 
at  any  moment  to  volcanic  eruptions  is  naturally 
wearing,  and  she  must  have  an  occasional  change 
in  order  to  keep  her  reason." 

Dimbie  nursed  his  leg,  and  his  mouth  was  a  little 
more  crooked  than  usual.  I  lay  and  watched  him. 
How  unselfish  and  forbearing  he  was!  He  put  up 
with  Peter  for  mother's  sake,  he  put  up  with  mother 
for  my  sake,  he  put  up  with  Jane  for  her  own  and 
the  Doctor's  sake.  Here  he  was  yearning  to  be 
alone,  to  be  by  ourselves;  and  the  house  was  full 
up  with  parents,  friends,  and  doctors.  And  I,  to 
add  to  his  worries,  have  been  obliged  to  keep  my 
room  for  the  last  week  owing  to  a  feverish  cold  and 
general  poorliness. 

"But  they  will  all  go  soon,"  I  said,  trying  to 
293 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

comfort  him.  "Peter  and  mother  are  returning 
home  after  the  wedding,  and  Jane  is  to  be  married 
next  month." 

"November  is  an  idiotic  month  for  a  wedding," 
he  said  irritably. 

"Why.?" 

"She  mightn't  have  been  in  such  a  deuce  of  a 
hurry." 

"But  it  isn't  she,  it's  the  Doctor." 

"Then  he  ought  to  have  learnt  patience  at  his 
age." 

I  smiled. 

"  You've  grown  fond  of  Jane  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  like  her  all  right,  but  it's  you  I'm  thinking 
of.  She  seems  to  know  how  to  look  after  you  and 
make  you  comfortable.  I'm  rough  and  Amelia's 
stupid,  and  it's  amazing  how  she  knows  exactly 
what  you  want.  And  Amelia  has  taken  to  her,  she's 
a  perfect  lamb  in  her  presence." 

"I  wish  Peter  would  be  a  lamb,  too.  How  are 
they  getting  on  at  meals  ?  " 

And  Dimbie  gave  me  a  most  vivid  description  of 
how  they  ivere  getting  on  at  meals,  which  left  me 
weak  with  laughter. 

"And  really,  sweet,"  he  concluded,  "I  am  rather 
glad  you  are  fast  here,  though  the  drawing-room 
without  you  seems  like  a  barren  wilderness.  Your 
old  corner  looks  lonely  and  empty." 

"  I'll  soon  be  tliere  to  fill  It,"  I  said. 
294 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Do  you  think  you  are  better?"  He  furrowed 
his  brow. 

"  I  wonder  how  many  times  a  day  you  ask  me  that, 
dear  one.  Don't  I  look  better  ?  "  He  regarded  me 
anxiously.     "  When  we  get  to  our  new  house " 

"  Ah,  yes ! "  he  said,  brightening  at  once.  "  It  is 
change  you  want.  As  soon  as  ever  we  have  cleared 
out  this  rabbit  warren  we'll  begin  our  plans.  We'll 
be  our  own  architects  —  master  builders,  eh  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  by  the  rabbit  warren  mother  and 
Peter?" 

"  Yes,"  he  laughed.  "  And  when  the  endless  dis- 
cussion of  frocks  and  Jane's  wedding  is  over  we'll 
set  to  work  hard.  I  want  the  house  to  be  ready 
by  the  summer." 

A  little  pain  settled  at  my  heart.  He  was  so  bent 
upon  building  this  nev/  home  for  us  —  a  home  after 
our  own  hearts,  a  house  with  south-west  windows 
to  catch  every  bit  of  sunshine  for  me,  with  a  verandah 
in  which  I  could  lie,  with  an  old-world  garden  — 
we  must  find  a  plot  of  land  with  well-grown,  stately 
trees  —  with  extensive  views,  with  distant,  pine-clad 
hills,  and  smiling,  fertile  valleys.  Perhaps  a  river 
might  be  included  too,  a  babbling  stream  which 
would  cheer  me  with  its  happy  laughter.  His  eyes 
glisten  as  he  paints  his  picture,  develops  his  fore- 
ground, sketches  in  his  distances. 

"They  must  be  blue  distances,"  he  said  to- 
day. 

295 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"They  might  be  grey,  swept  by  clouds,  wrapped 
in  mist." 

"  Even  then  they  would  be  beautiful,"  he  argued. 

"Yes,"  I  agreed,  "most  distances  are  beautiful; 
look  at  the  frog-pond." 

He  laughed. 

"  Still  attached  to  our  little  home  ?  " 

"Oh,  so  attached!  I  love  it  more  each  day.  It 
is  so  cosy,  and  we  are  so  comfortable.  Now  that 
Ameha  has  permitted  us  to  have  daily  help  there  is 
nothing  we  want,  is  there .'' " 

A  cloud  passed  over  his  face. 

"I  am  sorry  that  you  still  do  not  wish  to  leave, 
Marg.  I  know  it  would  be  so  much  better  for  you, 
and  Renton  insists  upon  it.  He  says  in  bracing  air 
you  will  be  so  much  stronger,  and  —  I  am  dis- 
appointed that  you  are  not  interested." 

"  He  does  not  know "  the  words  broke  from 

me.  And  then,  "I  am  interested.  I  want  to  do 
what  you  want.  Your  picture  is  entrancing.  Let 
us  begin  at  once.  I  will  draw  a  plan  of  the  garden, 
and  you  shall  draw  a  plan  of  the  house,  and  then 
we'll  compare  notes." 

I  spoke  rapidly.  Why  should  we  not  begin,  as 
he  was  so  eager.'*  It  would  give  him  occupation 
during  the  long  days.  It  would  make  him  happy, 
feeling  that  it  w^as  being  done  for  me  and  my 
comfort. 

He  brightened  at  once. 

296 


Dimbie  and  1  —  and  Amelia 

"Where  shall  we  have  it?"  I  went  on.  "Shall 
it  be  on  the  top  of  Leith  Hill,  or  at  Hind  Head, 
Farndon,  Frensham,  or  Dorking  ?  " 

"  It  must  be  where  there  are  pine  trees  and  heather 
for  you,  and  in  the  neighbourhood  of  shooting  for 
me.  It  must  be  high  up,  and  yet  not  too  cold,  and 
we  must  pitch  the  house  southwest  for  the  sun." 

"  And  there  must  be  a  river,"  I  continued  gravely, 
"and  blue  distances,  a  wide,  extensive  view,  grand 
forest  trees  in  our  own  garden,  and  lawns  that  have 
been  rolled  and  '  mowd '  for  a  thousand  years.  And 
God  will  specially  create  it  all  for  us." 

"Now  you  are  being  impertinent."  He  smiled 
happily.  "I  will  fetch  paper  and  pencils."  But 
he  didn't,  for  Peter  arrived  at  the  moment  and 
forced  an  entrance.  His  nose  was  a  trifle  blue,  and 
his  eyes  gUstened  as  a  warrior's  who  has  recently 
tasted  blood.  He  pecked  me  on  the  forehead  and 
asked  me  how  I  was.  I  informed  him  that  I  was 
only  very  middling,  and  Dimbie  added  that  rest  and 
quiet  were  most  essential  for  my  well-being. 

Peter  ignored  Dimbie  and  seated  himself  in  front 
of  the  fire,  to  which  he  held  out  a  gouty  leg,  and 
remarked  that  Amelia  was  a  brazen  minx.  Dimbie 
and  I  not  replying,  he  repeated  it  again.  Dimbie 
and  I  admired  the  view  from  the  window,  and  Peter 
for  the  third  time  repeated  the  same  uninteresting 
remark,  but  this  time  with  a  yell.  Dimbie  said 
politely  and  firmly  that  if  the  yell  was  repeated  Peter 
297 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

must  leave  the  room,  as  my  nerves  were  not  in  a 
state  to  stand  cat-calls.  Peter  glared  but  didn't 
repeat  the  yell,  at  wliich  I  marvelled. 

Mother  popped  her  head  in  at  the  door,  and  see- 
ing Peter,  popped  it  out  with  extreme  activity. 

Jane  did  the  same. 

Amelia  popped  hers  in,  but  kept  it  there,  and  then 
advanced.  She  sort  of  arched  her  back  as  she  looked 
at  Peter,  and  bristled  and  figuratively  spat. 

"  What  is  it,  iVmelia  ? "  I  asked,  before  they  got 
at  each  other. 

"The  butcher,  mum." 

"How  often  the  butcher  seems  to  call,"  I  said 
wearily.     "  Does  he  live  very  near  to  us .'' " 

"He  lives  in  the  village,  mum,  and  he's  killed  a 
home-fed  pig" 

"Poor  thing!  Just  when  there's  an  abundance 
of  acorns." 

Amelia  ignored  my  sympathy. 

"A  nice  loin  of  pork  with  sage  and  onion  stuffing 
would  be  a  change,  mum." 

"  I  don't  eat  sage  and  onion,"  growled  Peter. 

"A  nice  loin  of  pork  with  sage  and  onion  stuffing 
would  be  a  change,"  repeated  Amelia  steadily. 
"And  I've  got  oysters  and  a  partridge  for  you, 
mum." 

"I  don't  want  both.  General  Macintosh  could 
have  the  partridge,"  I  said  pacifically. 

"There'll  be  soup,  pork,  Charlotte  Rtice,  and 
298 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

savoury  eggs  for  the  dining-room."  When  Amelia 
adopted  that  tone  it  was  unwise  to  argue. 

"Do  you  know  how  to  make  Charlotte  Russe?" 

Amelia  creaked,  and  a  bone  snapped,  the  result 
of  an  extraordinary  veracity. 

"I  have  an  idea  how  it's  made,  but  Miss  Fair- 
brother  does  the  sweets  now.  She's  gettin'  her 
hand  in  before  she's  married.  She's  goin'  to  spoil 
the  Doctor.  Most  ladies  spoils  their  husbands." 
She  fixed  a  baleful  eye  upon  Dimbie  and  Peter. 

Peter  seized  the  poker  and  thumped  the  fire  into 
a  blaze.     I  was  glad,  for  the  room  was  chilly. 

"  Is  that  all,  Amelia  ?  " 

"No,  mum.  I  wants  to  speak  about  the  bath- 
room. It's  fair  swimmin'  with  water.  You  could 
float  the  canoe  in  it." 

"  Dear  me,  has  the  cistern  overflowed  ? "  asked 
Dimbie. 

"No,  sir,  it's  General  Macintosh.  When  he 
takes  his  bath  in  the  mornin'  he  tliinks  he's  suddenly 
turned  into  an  alligator.  The  splashiu's  dreadful, 
and  when  he's  tired  of  that  he  just  bales  the  water 
on  to  the  floor.  It's  like  the  Bay  of  Biscay  when  I 
go  in,  and  I  shall  be  glad  if  you'll  kindly  speak  to 
him  about  it,  sir." 

Peter  put  his  gouty  leg  carefully  and  firmly  on  to 

the  floor,  and,  as  golfers  say,  got  a  good  stance. 

Then  he  opened  his  mouth,  but  before  he  could 

utter  a  word  Dimbie  had  gently  but  forcibly  taken 

299 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

him  by  the  shoulders  and  put  him  out  of  the  room. 
Ameha  was  triumph  personified,  but  her  victory 
was  short  Hved,  for  when  Dimbie  returned  he  was 
very  angry  with  her. 

"  Understand  now,  Ameha,  that  no  such  tales  are 
brought  to  the  mistress.  I  will  not  have  her  worried 
with  trivial  household  matters.  I  thought  you  were 
capable  and  clever  enough  to  manage  for  yourself; 
you  keep  telling  us  that  you  are,  and  the  first  thing 
that  goes  wrong  you  fly  to  her.  Understand  too 
that  your  manner  of  speaking  to  General  Macintosh 
is  little  short  of  downright  impertinence,  and  if  it 
should  occur  again,  if  there  are  any  more  scenes, 
not  only  he  goes  out  of  the  house,  but  you  also. 
Yes,  yo7i  go,  understand  that.  You  are  a  good  girl, 
but  there  are  plenty  of  other  good  girls  in  the  world. 
Your  mistress  is  poorly,  weak  and  nervous,  and  she 
is  not  to  be  worried.    Now  go !    Not  a  word.    Go  J  " 

Dimbie  stopped  for  breath,  and  weeping,  humili- 
ated, and  very  unhappy,  Amelia  went.  Whether 
she  straightway  fisted  Peter,  whether  she  peppered 
him  from  every  point  of  vantage,  we  have  not  in- 
quired; but  during  the  last  six  hours  there  has  been 
a  marked  improvement  in  the  behaviour  of  both. 
Peter  is  not  bearing  Dimbie  any  grudge  for  his 
ejectment,  which  seems  to  me  remarkable,  but 
which  Dimbie  says  isn't.  "Bully  a  bully  and  he 
becomes  an  angel." 

"  He  is  hardly  that  yet,"  I  objected. 
300 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"He  passed  the  hot  buttered  toast  to  us  at  tea 
and  didn't  have  any  himself." 

"  Hot  buttered  toast  doesn't  agree  with  him,"  I 
said.    "  It  has  always  lain  heavily  upon  his  stomach." 

Dimbie  laughed,  and  Peter  entered  in  the  middle 
of  it. 

"Your  mother  and  I  are  going  for  a  stroll.  Do 
you  want  anything  from  the  village .'' " 

My  stare  was  rude,  I  fear.  It  was  certainly  the 
first  time  I  had  ever  heard  Peter  ask  if  anybody 
wanted  anything. 

"Thank  you,"  I  began,  "it  is  very  good  of  you." 
I  cast  round  in  my  mind  for  some  requirement  — 
soap,  candles,  Shinio,  oatmeal,  pearl  barley,  gela- 
tine, potatoes,  all  the  various  things  Amelia  spent 
her  life  in  requiring  —  but  we  were  not  "  out "  of 
any  of  them.  Peter  was  waiting;  his  kindly  inten- 
tion must  not  be  nipped  in  the  bud  at  any  cost. 
"Chips!"  I  cried  with  illumination. 

"Chips.?" 

"Firewood.     Hudson's  Dry  Soap  boxes." 

Peter  clutched  at  his  understanding. 

"Amelia  chops  them  up,"  I  explained. 

"He  can't  carry  soap  boxes  home,"  whispered 
Dimbie.     "  Couldn't  you  want  darning  wool  ?  " 

Of  course,  darning  wool  was  one  of  the  most  use- 
ful things  in  the  world. 

"Please  bring  me  two  cards  of  darning  wool,"  I 
said  aloud.  "  You  will  get  them  at  the  candle  shop." 
301 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Peter  rubbed  his  head. 

"  Wool  at  a  candle  shop  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  keeps  everything  —  sweets,  oil,  candles 
and  haberdashery." 

He  went  out  of  the  room. 

"  Well,  I'm  blessed ! "  ejaculated  Dimbie. 

"So  am  I.  He  looked  quite  docile,  and  he's 
really  wonderfully  handsome  for  a  man  of  his  age." 

Peter  was  back. 

"  What  colour  your  mother  wishes  to  know  ?  " 

"  Colour  ?     Oh,  an}i;hing ! " 

"Brown,"  said  Dimbie  hastily,  turning  a  re- 
proachful eye  upon  me. 

"You  really  are  stupid,  Marg,"  he  said  when 
Peter  had  gone. 

"I  admit  it,"  I  said  ruefully,  "and  we  haven't 
a  brown  thing  in  the  house.  Why  couldn't  you 
have  said  black  while  you  were  about  it  ?  " 

And  Dimbie  didn't  know  why  he  hadn't  said  black. 
But  it  is  sufficient  for  me  to  know  that  Peter  is  trying 
to  be  good,  and  that  Amelia  has  ceased  to  throw 
saucepans  about  the  house,  as  the  noise  was  a  little 
trying.     Peter  may  yet  go  to  heaven. 


302 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A  DISCUSSION  ABOUT  A  WEDDING-GOWN 

THE  discussion  about  Jane's  wedding-gown 
began  in  that  pleasant  hour  between  tea 
and  dinner  on  the  soft  edge  of  the  dusk,  when  the 
refreshing  influence  of  tea  still  pervades  one,  when 
the  fire  seems  to  burn  its  brightest,  when  the  clock 
ticks  its  softest,  when  the  little  shadows  begin  to 
creep  into  the  corners  of  the  room,  and  the  familiar 
furniture  and  ornaments  become  a  soft,  rounded 
blur. 

Nanty  had  been  persuaded  into  staying  for  a 
real  long  evening;  and  John  had  been  persuaded, 
against  his  better  judgment,  into  putting  up  his 
horses  at  the  "  Ring  o'  Bells,"  and  was  in  the  kitchen 
saying  pleasant  and  pacifying  things  to  Amelia,  no 
doubt. 

"  We  shall  be  held  up  by  highwaymen.  John  will 
be  gagged  and  thrown  into  a  ditch,  and  my  pockets 
will  be  rifled  and  my  jewellery  stolen." 

Nanty  said  this  resignedly,  nay  almost  cheerfully, 
as  though  a  change  from  the  ordinary  routine  of  life 
would  not  be  unacceptable  to  her.  And  mother 
303 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

gazed  at  her  in  fearful  admiration.  Heroism  in  any 
form  appeals  strongly  to  mother,  though  she  herself 
is  the  bravest  of  the  brave.  To  have  lived  with 
Peter  for  twenty-five  years  denotes  some  courage. 

Nanty's  pleasure  on  hearing  of  Jane's  engagement 
was  cloaked  by  a  pretence  at  surprise  and  pity;  but 
of  course  we  all  know  Nanty.  She  had  been  very 
kind  to  Jane  when  she  lived  with  us.  "Above  the 
ruck  of  ordinary  governesses,"  she  had  pronounced. 
'*Not  always  on  the  look-out  for  slights  and  snubs; 
a  most  sensible  young  person!"  Now  the  sensible 
young  person  was  anxious  to  tell  her  herself  of  the 
happiness  which  had  come  into  her  life,  and  had 
requested  mother  and  me  to  keep  silent  on  the 
subject  "if  we  could."  She  had,  however,  conceded 
to  our  earnest  request  that  the  announcement  should 
be  made  in  our  presence  after  the  men  had  gone 
out.  We  knew  that  Nanty's  observations  would  be 
amusing,  and  we  looked  forward  to  a  pleasant  half- 
hour.  When  tea  had  been  removed  Peter  seemed 
inclined  to  linger,  notwithstanding  tlie  unnecessary 
number  of  women  around  him.  The  arm-chair 
which  he  had  annexed  —  (Dimbie's)  —  was  lux- 
urious, the  fire  was  warm,  his  temper  was  mild. 
Dimbie  seemed  still  more  inclined  to  linger.  The 
rug  on  which  he  was  stretched  was  curly  and  soft, 
his  hand  sought  mine,  he  liked  and  was  always 
entertained  by  Nanty.  Mother  and  I  looked  at  one 
another  and  looked  at  Jane,  and  curbed  our  impa- 
304 


Dimbie  and  1  —  and  Amelia 

tience.  Mother  glanced  at  Peter  and  opened  her 
mouth  and  shut  it  again.  The  courage  of  Horatius 
was  not  within  her  this  day.  I  did  the  same  at 
Dimbie. 

"What  is  it,  dear.'"  he  asked.  "Aren't  you 
comfy  ?     Shall  I  alter  your  pillow  ?  " 

I  assured  him  that  I  was  perfectly  comfortable, 
and  at  the  same  time  ventured  to  suggest  that  it  was 
a  lovely  evening  on  which  to  take  a  walk.  Jane's 
approaching  marriage  could  not  be  discussed  before 
two  men  when  one  of  them  was  Peter;  for  Nanty 
was  never  talkative  before  Peter,  she  said  he  always 
roused  her  temper  to  such  a  pitch  that  she  could 
scarcely  get  her  breath. 

Dimbie  agreed  with  my  view  of  the  evening's 
attractiveness,  and  stretched  his  legs  luxuriously 
towards  the  fire. 

I  mentioned  that  the  birch  trees  in  the  spinny 
would  be  at  their  best,  dressed  out  in  all  their 
autumn  glory. 

He  again  agreed  with  me,  and  remarked  that 
their  grey  boles  was  what  peculiarly  appealed  to 
him  —  grey  with  the  vivid  splashes  of  orange  and 
red  leaves  above. 

The  others  began  to  look  bored. 

I  mentioned  that  the  squirrels  would  be  busy 
gathering  and  storing  acorns  for  the  winter. 

He  said  he  thought  it  was  within  the  range  of 
possibility,  and  he  put  more  coal  on  the  fire. 
305 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Mother  folded  her  hands  and  looked  resigned, 
and  Jane  took  some  needlework  from  her 
basket. 

"  Why  don't  you  say  what  you  want  ?  "  said  Nanty 
suddenly.  "  Men  don't  understand  hints  and  beating 
about  the  bush.  They  are  simple-minded  creatures 
—  some  of  them.  Do  you  want  your  husband  to 
fetch  you  some  chocolate  from  the  village?" 

Dimbie  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  for  a  walk  for  an  hour,  and 
take  father  with  you  and  show  him  the  beauties  of 
the  spinny.  And  you  might  take  a  basket  and  get 
some  blackberries." 

Mother's  startled  and  amazed  countenance  at  the 
idea  of  Peter's  going  blackberrying  made  me  laugh, 
and  Dimbie's  reproachful  face  moved  me  to  pity. 

"Well,  Peter  might  go  blackberrying  alone  and 
you  to  see  the  squirrels,"  I  said  confusedly. 

And  now  Nanty  laughed  outright,  and  mother 
sat  horror-stricken,  gazing  at  Peter.  But  he,  by 
a  merciful  dispensation  of  Providence,  was  dozing, 
which  was  a  lucky  thing  for  me. 

Dimbie  got  up  slowly  and  stretched  himself. 

"Come  on.  General  Macintosh,"  he  said  resign- 
edly, but  Peter  dozed  on.  Dimbie  patted  his  leg, 
unfortunately  the  gouty  one,  and  Peter  started  up 
swearing  loudly. 

"We've  got  to  go  for  a  walk,"  said  Dimbie 
apologetically. 

306 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Who's  got  to  go  for  a  walk?"  demanded  Peter 
fiercely. 

"You  and  I,  We  have  to  go  blackberrying  and 
see  the  squirrels." 

The  look  which  Peter  gave  to  Dimbie  obliged 
me  to  press  my  mouth  against  the  tortoise's  back 
to  keep  from  screaming. 

Peter  sat  down  heavily. 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  think  you  are  being 
funny,  sir,  but  I  don't.  To  wake  a  man  up  from 
a  much-needed  sleep  to  talk  about  da  —  ahem, 
squirrels  and  blackberries  seems  to  me  to  be  about 
the  most  deucedly  idiotic  thing " 

"  Hsh,  father! "  I  said.  "  Dimbie  wants  you  to  go 
for  a  walk  with  him  to  the  spinny.  It's  a  lovely 
evening,  and  you  might  just  happen  to  come  across 
some  squirrels  and  blackberries." 

"But  I  don't  tvant  to  see  any  squirrels  or 
bl " 

Dimbie  took  him  by  the  arm  and  began  gently  to 
drag  him  towards  the  door.  "Come  on,"  he  said 
coaxingly,   "we've  got  to  go  somewhere.   General. 

They  want  to  get  rid  of  us.     Women  are "  and 

Peter  was  so  interested  in  hearing  what  Dimbie 
thought  of  the  senseless  creatures,  that  he  actually 
followed  him  into  the  hall,  allowed  himself  to  be  put 
into  his  top  coat,  and  led  through  the  door,  dowTi 
the  path  and  out  of  the  gate. 

"You  can  take  a  breath,  mother,  dear,"  I  said, 
307 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"or  you  will  suffocate.  And  now,  Jane,  tell  your 
news,  they  won't  be  back  under  an  hour." 

She  drew  a  thread  from  the  linen  tea-cloth  she 
was  making  with  unswerving  fingers,  but  the  colour 
crept  into  her  cheeks. 

"She  looks  as  though  she  were  making  bottom 
drawer  things,"  remarked  Nanty  dryly. 

"And  that's  exactly  what  she  is  doing." 

"Oh!    For  herself?" 

"Well,  she'd  hardly  bother  to  make  them  for 
other  people." 

"  I  disagree  with  you.  Miss  Fairbrother  is  exactly 
the  sort  of  kind  person  who  would  like  to  see  a 
friend's  drawer  filled  with  a  lot  of  feminine 
frippery." 

"This  is  for  her  own,"  I  returned.  "Go  on, 
Jane." 

She  put  down  her  work. 

"  You  seem  to  be  telling,  so  you  had  better  finish. 
Marguerite." 

"  You  mean  you  are  too  shy.  Well,  Nanty,  Jane 
is  to  be  married  next  month.  Guess  to  whom. 
You  shall  have  three  tries." 

Nanty  sniffed  superciliously. 

"  I  should  have  thought  she  would  have  had 
more  sense.  To  an  Indian  rajah  who  lives  in  a 
gilded  palace  ?  " 

"Wrong." 

"To  a  man  in  the  Service  with  a  small  pension, 
308 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

an  enlarged  liver,  residing  at  Brighton  and  requiring 
a  kind  nurse  ?  " 

"Wrong  again." 

"  To  a  widower  —  perhaps  the  father  of  the  two 
sticky  children  you  mentioned  to  me?" 

"The  mother  is  alive  and  extremely  healthy," 
said  Jane. 

Nanty  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

"  I  only  hope  the  m>an  is  as  nice  as  can  be  expected 
or  hoped  for.  Miss  Fairbrother  has  the  appearance 
of  a  woman  who  would  throw  herself  away  upon  a 
rake,  hoping  to  reform  his  morals  and  save  his 
soul." 

Jane  smiled. 

"Do  you  think  that  Dr.  Ren  ton's  soul  is  in 
danger  ? " 

Nanty  checked  a  gasp  of  surprise. 

"I  have  always  felt  that  he  was  a  -man  with  a 
hidden  —  something.  I  Jhave  wondered  about  it," 
she  said,  recovering  herself. 

"Most  women  wonder  at  single  men,  and  they 
wonder  still  more  when  they  are  married,"  said 
mother. 

"Who,"  I  asked,  laughing,  "the  women  or  the 
men  ?  " 

"Oh,  the  women!" 

She  spoke  with  an  earnestness  that  recalled  Peter 
and  his  blackberrying  to  my  mind,  and  I  laughed 
again. 

309 


Dimble  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Men,"  said  Nanty,  "are  necessary  for  the  con- 
tinuation of  the  race.  I  cannot  see  that  they  are 
of  any  other  use  in  the  world." 

"  Now  I  am  waiting  for  your  opinion.  Marguerite," 
said  Jane  with  a  twinkle.  "I  should  like  to  have 
no  illusions  about  man  before  I  marry  him." 

"I  am  not  to  be  drawn,"  I  returned.  "There 
are  men  and  men.  The  two  looking  for  squirrels 
at  the  moment  are  extreme  types.  Perhaps  there 
is  something  half-way  between,  and  you  may  be 
fairly  fortunate." 

Jane  smiled  with  a  satisfied  air. 

"You  have  not  congratulated  me,"  she  said  to 
Nanty.     "It  is  usual,  I  think." 

"  I  don't  congratulate  people  on  marriage." 

"You  are  a  cynic." 

"No,  but  my  eyes  are  open;  there  was  a  time 
when  they  were  closed  like  yours." 

"It  is  a  pity,"  said  Jane  softly.  "I  hope  mine 
will  always  remain  shut." 

"  Let  us  hope  so,"  returned  Nanty  a  little  bitterly. 

"  I  thought  we  were  to  discuss  Jane's  wedding 
gown,"  said  mother  plaintively,  bringing  us  back 
to  actualities. 

She  fetched  two  big  bundles  of  patterns  from  a 
side-table  and  handed  them  to  Jane. 

"Before  we  begin,"  said  the  latter,  turning  again 
to  Nanty,  "won't  you  change  your  mind  and  con- 
gratulate me  ?  " 

310 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*'ril  congratulate  Dr.  Renton,  If  that  will  satisfy 
you." 

"But  it  won't.  I  think  I  am  quite  as  much,  if 
not  more,  to  be  congratulated  than  he," 

"  Now  you  are  being  humble,"  said  Nanty  whim- 
sically, "  and  I  don't  like  humility  in  a  woman.  A 
woman  should  always  remember  that  she  is  quite 
good  enough  for  any  man  living."  And  with  that 
Jane  had  to  be  satisfied. 

And  what  a  discussion  followed  as  to  the  gown 
Jane  should  wear  on  the  great  day.  We  might 
have  been  schoolgirls.  And  the  trouble  was  that 
no  two  of  us  agreed  on  any  single  point  —  colour, 
material,  or  fashion  of  making.  When  mother 
had  soared  away  to  silver  gauze  posed  on  chiffon, 
Jane  said  — 

"  Kindly  remember  my  age,  and  that  I  am  going 
to  a  wedding  and  not  to  a  ball." 

When  Nanty  even,  roused  to  enthusiasm,  had 
completed  a  dream  of  a  princess  gown  of  softest 
pastel-blue,  chiffon  velvet,  Jane  said  — 

"Kindly  remember  that  I  am  small  and 
dumpy." 

And  when  I  extolled  the  virtue  of  palest  mauve 
taffeta,  Jane  simply  laughed  outright  and  asked  me 
to  look  at  her  colouring. 

"I'm  looking,"  I  said.  "You've  brown  hair  and 
bright  red  cheeks." 

But  she  ignored  all  our  suggestions. 
311 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"I  shall  be  married  in  silver-grey  poplin,"  she 
pronounced. 

"Exactly  like  a  servant."  Nanty  closed  her 
eyes.  "  They  always  wear  silver-grey.  I  had  three 
parlour-maids  in  succession  who  had  selected  it 
for   their   wedding-gowns." 

"  But  alpaca,  surely !  Mine  will  be  silk  poplin  of 
a  good  quality." 

But  Nanty  and  mother  refused  to  take  any 
further  interest  in  the  subject,  and  Nanty  picked 
up  a  paper. 

"  What  about  grey  cloth,  then  —  pale  dove-grey  ?  " 
Jane  waived  the  silver  poplin  with  an  apparent 
effort. 

Nanty  put  down  the  paper. 

"Grey  cloth  with  chincliilla  is  rather  nice,"  she 
admitted  grudgingly. 

"I  did  not  mention  chinchilla,"  said  Jane  meekly. 

"7  will  give  the  cliincliilla  as  a  wedding  present 
if  you  don't  mind.  Grey  cloth  alone  would  be 
most  uninteresting." 

"The  coat  must  be  a  bolero,"  said  mother  firmly, 
"lined  with  white  satin." 

"  You  are  all  evidently  going  to  run  me  into  a  lot 
of  money.  I  am  not  accustomed  to  satin  linings. 
I  thought  of  having  Italian  cloth." 

"  What  ?  "  shouted  mother  and  Nanty. 

"Italian  cloth,"  repeated  Jane  firmly.     "I  hope 
to  do  the  whole  thing  for  about  five  pounds." 
312 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Impossible!"  said  Nanty.  "Fifteen  would  be 
mean  and  skimpy." 

Jane  set  her  mouth  good-humouredly. 

"Then  I  can't  get  married." 

"No,  you  evidently  can't,"  agreed  Nanty.  "It 
would  be  unfair  to  the  man." 

"It's  a  pity,"  observed  Jane,  "because  I  rather 
wanted  to." 

"A  foolish  desire  on  your  part  which  should  be 
checked  at  once." 

Mother  began  to  look  worried.  With  a  desire  to 
cheer  her  up  I  casually  inquired  of  Nanty  if  she 
had  seen  anything  more  of  Professor  Leighrail.  I 
was  unprepared  for  her  dropping  the  patterns  about 
like  chaff  in  a  wind. 

"Professor  Leighrail!"  said  mother,  with  widely- 
open  eyes.     "  Anastasia's  old  lover  ?  " 

"Exactly,"  I  replied.  "He's  a  friend  of  ours, 
and  Nanty  met  him  here  the  other  day.  Have 
you  seen  him  again  ?  "  I  asked. 

She  did  not  reply. 

"  It  is  a  pity  when  deafness  overtakes  people  — 
the  first  sign  of  old  age." 

"She  is  not  deaf,"  said  mother,  "and  is  only 
fifty-one." 

I  laughed. 

"Kiss  me,  mother,  dear,"  I  said,  "you  are  so 
practical  at  times.     And  yet  some  people  of  your 
age  are  quite  romantic  and  sentimental." 
313 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"La,  la,  la,  la!"  sang  Nanty.  She  leaned  over 
my  couch.  "Marguerite,"  she  said,  "I  should  slap 
you  if  you  were  strong  and  well." 

"But  I'm  not,"  I  said,  "so  kiss  me."  And  she 
did  so,  while  whispering  that  the  Professor  had 
been  to  tea  with  her.  "  It's  not  proper,"  I  said,  and 
Nanty  laughed. 


S14 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

PREPARATIONS   FOR   A   WEDDING 

THE  house  is  very  quiet.  Jane  and  Dimbie 
are  out  in  the  woods  gathering  sprays  of  red- 
tinted  brambles,  briony,  traveller's  joy,  bracken, 
which  though  fading  is  of  that  golden  tinge  which 
is  almost  more  beautiful  than  the  green,  hips  and 
haws  shining  and  scarlet,  and  clusters  of  berries 
of  the  mountain-ash.  This  collection  of  autumnal 
loveliness  is  for  the  decoration  of  the  cottage,  for 
is  not  Jane  to  be  married  to-morrow  ?  Mother  and 
Peter  have  gone  for  a  stroll  as  Peter  calls  it,  or  for  a 
gallop  as  mother  terms  it,  for  Peter  can  get  up  as 
much  speed,  in  spite  of  his  gouty  leg,  as  Amelia  can 
with  my  Ilkley  couch. 

Amelia  has  "run"  to  the  village  for  innumerable 
things  forgotten  this  morning  when  the  grocer's 
boy  clamoured  for  orders.  And  the  Help  I  should 
imagine,  from  the  quiet  of  the  house,  has  fallen 
asleep  over  the  kitchen  fire.  The  Help,  from  what 
Amelia  tells  me,  is  very  stupid  and  is  no  help  at  all. 
She  puts  the  blacking  on  the  scullery  floor  instead 
of  on  the  boots.  She  never  screws  the  stopper  on 
315 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

to  the  Shinio  bottle  after  use,  and  the  contents  are 
therefore  spilled  all  over  the  place.  She  allows  the 
handles  of  the  knives  to  lie  in  water.  "Does  she 
take  them  off  the  blades  ?  "  I  asked,  and  I  received 
one  of  Amelia's  halibut  looks.  She  forgets  to 
sprinkle  tea-leaves  on  the  carpets  before  brushing 
them,  though  the  tea-leaves  are  put  all  ready  for 
her  in  a  nice  clean  saucer.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all 
these  enormities,  Ameha  permits  her  to  remain  and 
not  help. 

Before  "running"  to  the  village  just  now  she 
wondered  whether  anything  would  go  wrong  during 
her  temporary  absence  and  what  the  Help  would 
be  up  to. 

"She's  worse  than  her  at  Tompkinses'." 

"The  one  who  wore  half  a  pound  of  tea  as  a 
bustle  when  she  left  at  night  ?  " 

Amelia  seemed  pleased  at  my  memory,  and  she 
then  went  on  to  explain  why  this  Help  was  worse 
than  the  other.  It  appeared  that  deceit  was  her 
besetting  sin.  The  other  one  openly,  so  to  speak, 
wore  tea  as  a  bustle ;  this  one  you  could  never  catch. 
She  would  leave  of  an  evening  with  a  face  hke  the 
Song  of  Solomon  —  I  did  not  see  the  connection,  but 
did  not  like  to  interrupt  —  and  yet  butter,  bacon, 
and  tea  disappeared  miraculously.  Amelia  would 
search  her  hand-bag  when  the  Help  was  washing 
up;  she  would  look  under  the  lining  of  her  crepe 
bonnet.  "Crepe!"  I  said.  "Is  she  a  widow. 5*" 
316 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

But  Amelia  said  she  wasn't,  that  the  bonnet  had 
been  given  to  her  by  a  late  employer,  and  the  crepe 
was  of  the  best  quahty.  I  felt  remiss  in  not  having 
a  crepe  bonnet  too  to  present  to  the  Help,  and 
asked  Amelia  if  she  thought  my  old  yellow  satin 
dancing  frock  would  be  of  any  use  to  her,  and 
Amelia  has  gone  off  without  replying.  Perhaps  she 
would  like  the  frock  for  herself.  I  know  she  cati 
dance,  for  have  I  not  seen  her  executing  the  cake- 
walk  in  Dimbie's  tea-rose  slippers.'^ 

The  Help  is  to  wear  a  cap  and  collar  and  cuffs 
for  to-morrow's  festivities.  Amelia  is  making  her 
do  this;  and  I  am  a  little  sorry  for  the  poor  Help, 
for  she  may  dislike  a  cap  very  much,  having  a 
husband  and  four  nearly  grown-up  children. 

Amelia  says  that  she  and  the  Help  will  be  able 
to  manage  the  guests  quite  easily,  and  I  believe 
her.  I  know  that  she  alone  would  be  quite  equal 
to  forty,  and  we  are  only  expecting  ten  besides  the 
house-party.  A  younger  brother  of  Dr.  Renton  is 
to  be  best  man;  and  then  there  will  be  Nanty;  a 
Miss  Rebecca  Sharp,  a  Suffragist,  and  cousin  to 
Jane;  Dr.  Renton's  married  sister  and  her  husband; 
his  housekeeper,  who  has  served  liim  faithfully  like 
a  housekeeper  in  a  book  for  nearly  twenty  years; 
a  Mrs.  Wilbraham,  an  old  patient,  who  has  invited 
herself;  and  Professor  Leighrail.  Dimbie  suggested 
inviting  the  last,  and  I  jumped  at  him. 

"He  will  entertain  Nanty,"  I  said. 
317 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  You  don't  want  to  marry  them  ? "  said  Dimbie 
in  alarm. 

"Dimbie,  dear,"  I  returned,  "you  must  try  to 
break  yourself  of  the  habit  of  assuming  that  I  am 
perpetually  trying  to  marry  people." 

"What  about  Jane  and  the  Doctor?" 

"  I  was  a  girl  in  the  schoolroom  when  they  fell  in 
love  with  one  another." 

"You  brought  them  together." 

"I  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  Jane's  visit  was 
arranged  long  before  I  knew." 

He  was  only  half  convinced. 

"I  don't  want  another  wedding  from  here,"  he 
said  a  little  gloomily.  "One  is  all  right.  I  like 
Jane,  and  it  has  been  fun  and  amusement  for  you. 
But  if  Nanty  and  more  pattern-books  arrive  I  shall 
clear  off." 

"Were  I  stronger,"  I  said,  "I  should  shake  you." 

"Would  you?"  He  laughed,  holding  liis  face  to 
mine. 

"  I  hope  you  are  going  to  be  very  good  to-morrow, 
and  give  Jane  away  nicely.  You  mustn't  give  her 
a  push,  you  must  hand  her  over  gracefully  to  the 
Doctor." 

Dimbie  screwed  up  his  face. 

"I  don't  fancy  the  job.  I  wish  you  could  be 
there,  Marg,  to  give  me  a  wink  at  the  right  mo- 
ment." 

"Oh,  don't!"  I  whispered,  in  a  momentary  fit 
318 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

of  passionate  longing.  "Don't  remind  me  that  I 
can't  be  there.  Dimbie,  I  am  so  disappointed  that 
I  shall  not  see  Jane  married!  I  do  so  love  Jane. 
It  is  —  hard  to  bear." 

As  the  words  were  uttered  I  would  have  given 
a  kingdom  to  recall  them.  When  should  I  learn 
control.^  Pain  flitted  across  my  dear  one's  face, 
pity  and  sorrow. 

"Never  mind!"  I  cried,  striving  to  heal  the 
wound.  "I  shall  see  her  dressed.  She  is  going  to 
don  her  wedding-gown  in  my  room,  and  I  am  to  put 
all  the  finishing  touches.  She  will  kneel  in  front 
of  me,  and  I  am  to  pull  a  lock  of  hair  out  here,  pat 
one  in  there,  persuade  a  curl  to  wander  across  her 
forehead,  tilt  her  hat  to  a  more  fashionable  angle, 
and  altogether  make  her  the  most  beautiful  Jane 
in  the  world." 

But  Dimbie  was  not  to  be  comforted.  He  has 
gone  to  the  woods  with  black  care  hovering  very 
close  at  hand,  and  every  effort  must  I  strain  this 
evening  to  bring  back  the  smile  to  liis  lips.  There 
must  be  no  sad  faces  to-morrow.  Jane  has  had 
a  somewhat  hard  and  lonely  life,  and  she  must 
embark  upon  her  new  voyage  without  a  shadow  of 
unhappiness.  The  Doctor  will  be  good  to  her,  I 
know  —  gentle  and  chivalrous.  One  knows  in- 
stinctively when  a  man  will  be  good  to  the  woman 
he  has  married;  it  is  in  his  voice,  his  manner,  in 
the  very  way  he  looks  at  her.  What  Dimbie  is  to 
819 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

me  he  will  be  to  her.  Why  should  Jane  and  I  be 
of  the  elect  among  women?  We  deserve  it  no 
more  than  mother  and  Nanty.  But  they  will  have 
their  compensation,  I  verily  believe.  God  in  His 
goodness  will  reserve  for  all  the  tired,  disillusioned 
wives  of  the  world  a  little  peaceful  niche  where  they 
may  rest  from  their  husbands,  which  is  another 
word  for  labours.  And  the  husbands!  I  do  not 
think  that  theirs  is  always  the  blame,  the  fault. 
There  must  be  many  too  who  would  like  to  find  a 
peareful  haven  where  they  may  smoke  and  read, 
and  put  their  feet  upon  the  chairs,  and  rest  from 
the  perpetual  nagging  and  fault-finding  of  their 
wives. 


Amelia  is  back  and  has  roused  the  Help,  for  her 
voice  was  borne  to  me  loudly  indignant.  "And 
there  is  no  kettle  boiling  for  tea!"  Poor  Help,  or 
sensible  Help.^  Did  she  realise  that  if  she  waited 
long  enough  Ameha  would  put  on  the  kettle? 
There  are  usually  plenty  of  Amelias  to  put  on 
kettles  and  scold  Helps  and  tidy  up  the  universe. 
And  so  also  are  there  many  Helps  who  realise  this, 
and  therefore  sit  with  folded  hands  doing  nothing 
so  long  as  the  Amelias  will  permit  them.  I  don't 
know  to  whom  my  sympathy  goes  the  most,  the 
AmeUas  or  Helps. 

Peter  and  mother  are  back  too,  and  are  removing 
320 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

their  outdoor  wraps.  Peter,  blowing  and  snorting 
like  the  alligator  to  which  Amelia  likened  him,  has 
informed  me  that  it  is  a  beastly  cold  day  with  an 
east  wind,  that  the  roads  in  Surrey  are  the  worst 
in  Europe,  and  that  mother  is  the  slowest  won  an  in 
God's  universe.  Mother  has  tip-toed  back  to  tell  me 
what  she  thinks  of  Peter.  That  his  limp  was  so 
fast  and  furious  that  you  might  just  as  well  try  to 
keep  up  with  a  fire-engine,  that  she  has  made  up 
her  mind  that  this  will  be  her  last  Vv^alk  with  him 
(mother  has  been  saying  this  for  many  years),  and 
that  he  has  forbidden  her  to  wear  her  new  bonnet 
on  the  morrow,  as  —  she  looks  a  fright  in  it. 

I  have  soothed  her  as  best  I  can.  I  have  told 
her  that  Dimbie  shall  stand  by  and  see  that  she 
does  wear  the  new  bonnet,  and  that  if  Peter  is  in 
any  way  untractable  he  shall  be  locked  up  for  the 
day  in  the  shed  with  liis  own  canoe,  which  has 
caused  her  to  steal  away  in  a  state  of  fearful  joy. 

I  see  Jane  and  Dimbie  coming  through  the  gate. 
Jane  is  wellnigh  lost  in  a  tangled  wealth  of  glorious 
autumn  treasures,  and  Dimbie  trails  behind  him 
an  immense  bough  of  pine.  It  is  for  me  to  smell, 
I  know  —  to  inhale  the  delicious,  resinous  scent 
fresh  from  the  woods.  A  bit  broken  off  is  less  than 
nothing,  you  must  have  a  branch  straight  from  the 
heart  of  the  trunk.  When  I  have  felt  it  and  held 
it,  and  smelled  it  and  loved  it,  it  shall  stand 
by  the  grandfather  clock  in  the  hall,  and  it  will 
321 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

make   a  beautiful   decoration  for  to-morrow's  fes- 
tivities. 

I  must  cease  scribbling.  They  are  all  assembling 
for  the  last  family  tea.  The  Doctor  has  just  arrived. 
Jane  has  a  bunch  of  mountain-ash  berries  tucked 
into  her  belt.  Here  comes  Amelia  with  the  tea  and 
toast,  and  resignation  under  suffering  written  on 
her  brow!    What  has  the  Help  been  doing  now.'* 


322 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

jane's  wedding 

NANTY  described  it  as  a  calm,  gracious  sort  of 
wedding.     There  was  no  blare  of  trumpets 
when  Jane  and  the  Doctor  plighted  their  troth. 

"  Just  as  it  should  be,"  said  Nanty.  "A  wedding 
at  all  times  is  to  me  a  depressing  spectacle;  and 
when  accompanied  by  a  sound  of  brass  and  tinkling 
of  cymbals,  and  shawms,  and  ringing  of  bells,  and 
thumping  of  wedding  marches,  it  simply  becomes 
ridiculous,  not  to  mention  that  the  making  of  such 
noises  is  a  relic  of  barbarism." 

Mother  said  a  bright  ray  of  sunshine  found  Jane 
out,  and  lit  up  and  illumined  her  face  just  as  she 
was  repeating  the  beautiful  and  solemn  words,  "  Till 
death  us  do  part." 

"  She  looked  —  she  looked "     Mother  paused 

for  suitable  words. 

"As  though  she  had  been  sunstruck,"  interposed 
Nanty.  ^ 

Mother  was  mildly  indignant. 

"She  looked  like  an  angel,  Anastasia." 

Nanty  gave  a  little  grunt. 
323 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

*'  An  angel  in  a  Paris  hat,  eh  ?  But  I  must  admit 
she  looked  rather  nice.  She's  certainly  far  too  good 
for  the  Doctor." 

"Of  course,  Jane  is  getting  on,"  said  mother 
doubtfully. 

"  If  she  were  sixty  she  would  be  too  good  for  any 
man,"  pronounced  Nanty  decisively,  and  when  she 
adopted  that  tone  mother  ceased  to  argue. 

I  was  glad  that  the  wedding  morning  dawned 
serenely  beautiful.  I  had  feared  lowering  skies, 
heavy,  white  mists,  a  dripping,  gloomy,  sad-faced 
world,  but  November  was  on  her  best  behaviour. 
The  sun  sent  mild,  warm  rays  across  the  garden, 
and  the  few  leaves  which  still  clung  to  the  trees 
across  the  fence  were  as  splashes  of  gold  against 
the  brown  branches  and  quiet,  blue  sky. 

They  bade  me  remain  in  bed  till  late  on  in  the 
morning,  so  that  I  might  be  well  and  strong  for 
the  reception,  which  was  a  grand  name  to  give  to 
a  gathering  of  a  dozen  or  more  people. 

I  lay  and  laughed  at  the  various  sounds  of  the 
household,  which  were  carried  to  me  through  my 
open  door  —  at  Amelia's  shrill  expostulations  with 
the  Help,  who  seemed  to  be  bent  upon  doing  the 
wrong  thing  at  the  wrong  time;  at  Peter's  explo- 
sions as  he  was  chivied  about  from  pillar  to  post 
by  "tiresome  women  who  would  go  putting  silly 
decorations  all  over  the  confounded  place";  and  at 
Dimbie's  perpetual  wailing  at  the  disappearance  of 
324 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

the  corkscrew.  "Tie  it  round  your  neck  on  a 
ribbon,  Dumbarton,"  I  could  hear  Peter  growl;  and 
Dimbie  said  it  was  a  most  excellent  suggestion  on 
the  part  of  his  father-in-law,  and  he  would  carry  it 
out  at  once. 

"Would  you  mind  moving  once  again,  General 
Macintosh,  we  must  arrange  the  refreshments  now," 
came  Jane's  voice  pleading  and  ingratiating. 

"Well,  I'm  not  preventing  you." 

"But  we  want  the  table,  please."  And  he 
straightway  burst  into  my  room  to  tell  me  what  he 
thought  of  the  institution  of  marriage. 

"Not  so  much  as  a  hole  left  for  a  cat  to  creep 
into,"  he  said  angrily. 

"  Jumbles  is  here ;  you  can  stay  if  you  like.  The 
easy  chair  by  the  fire  is  very  comfortable." 

He  dropped  into  it  a  little  ungraciously. 

"  So  you  don't  like  weddings  ? "  I  said  with  a 
smile. 

"Like  weddings!" 

"  Why  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  Your  mother  insisted.  When  your  mother  gets 
an  idea  into  her  head  you  might  as  well  talk  to  a 
mule." 

"  But  yon  needn't  have  come,"  I  said  gently. 

He  put  some  coal  on  the  fire  with  unnecessary 
energy. 

"  What  is  mother  doing  ?  " 

"Getting  in  everybody's  way." 
325 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"I  thought  it  was  you  who  were  doing  that." 

He  vouchsafed  no  reply,  and  buried  himself 
behind  The  Times,  thinking,  I  suppose,  like  the 
ostrich,  that  if  he  covered  up  his  head  his  body 
would  not  be  detected. 

But  Jane  soon  routed  him  out. 

"I  have  come  to  dress  Marguerite,"  she  an- 
nounced.    "Amelia  is  permitting  it." 

There  was  no  movement  from  behind  the  paper. 

"  General  Macintosh,  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you, 
but  the  time  is  getting  on." 

"I  thought  Marguerite  was  dressed,  she  looks 
very  grand." 

"It  is  the  ribbons  of  my  nightingale  which  have 
deceived  you,  I  have  only  that  and  my  nightdress 
on.     I  can  hardly  appear  in  so  scanty  an  attire." 

"  Give  'em  something  to  talk  about." 

"Father,"  I  said,  "un'Z/  you  go."  And  growling 
and  grumbling  he  went  in  search  of  mother,  pre- 
sumably to  have  a  row. 

The  sunshine  streamed  into  the  room,  the  tits 
chattered,  and  a  robin  blithely  showed  what  could 
be  done  with  a  range  of  eight  notes:  tweet,  tweet,  ta 
ra  ra  tweet,  tre  la,  tre  la,  ta  ra  ra  tweet. 

"Listen,  Jane,"  I  said,  "it  is  singing  to  you. 
Isn't  it  a  lovely  day!  I'm  so  glad  the  sun  is  sliining. 
Are  you  happy,  Jane  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  said  simply,  dropping  a  kiss  on  to  my 
hair,  which  she  was  gently  brushing.  "I'm  too 
326 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

happy  to  talk  about  it;  and  I  must  hurry,  Dimbie 
will  be  here  in  a  minute,  he  has  got  something  for 
you." 

And  there  he  was,  peeping  through  the  door  with 
AmeKa  close  behind  him.  In  his  arms  was  a  large 
cardboard  box. 

"  It's  a  new  tea-gown  straight  from  Paris,  mum," 
said  Amelia,  excitedly,  as  Dimbie  removed  the  lid. 
"There  were  twenty  to  choose  from,"  added  Jane, 
"and  we  were  over  an  hour  in  settUn'  on  it,"  com- 
pleted Amelia. 

Very  carefully  Dimbie  removed  all  the  folds  of 
soft,  white  paper,  and  shook  out  the  gown  —  a 
lovely  mass  of  pearly  satin,  soft  as  the  petals  of  a 
rose,  and  marvellous  old  lace  of  cobweb  trans- 
parency and  texture. 

"It  is  too  beautiful!"  I  whispered  to  him,  fold- 
ing my  arms  around  his  neck. 

"And  there  is  a  rose  for  your  neck,  sweetheart, 
just  the  colour  of  your  hair.     Isn't  he  a  beauty .'' " 

I  held  the  fragant,  yellow  softness  to  my  face,  for 
tlie  tears  were  coming,  and  Jane  and  Amelia  stole 
softly  away  and  left  us  by  ourselves  for  ten  minutes 
—  ten  minutes  which  would  alone  make  the  saddest 
life  worth  living,  and  mine  was  not  sad  because  I 
had  Dimbie. 

Presently  Jane  came  back. 

"You  must  go,  sir,"  she  commanded,  "or  your 
wife  will  not  be  ready."     And  Dimbie  went. 
327 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Deftly  and  quickly  she  arranged  my  hair,  got 
me  into  the  lovely  gown,  and  fastened  the  rose  at 
my  breast.  And  while  she  worked  she  talked. 
She  made  me  laugh  at  her  description  of  the  Help, 
who  was  sitting  dazed  and  "amoithered"  in  the 
middle  of  the  kitchen,  drinking  the  strongest  black 
tea,  and  regarding  every  onslaught  of  Amelia  with 
the  utmost  indifference  and  apathy.  And  Amelia! 
She,  of  course,  was  working  like  a  traction  engine 
in  the  refreshment- room,  shaking  her  fist  at  the 
creams  and  jellies,  some  of  which  refused  to  stand 
up,  and  persuading  trails  of  briony  to  stick  to  their 
proper  position  on  the  cake  and  not  wander  away 
to  the  dishes  of  oyster  pates. 

"  And  now  you  are  ready,  and  you  look  —  well, 
Dimbie  will  tell  you  how  you  look.  I  will  call 
him." 

"Don't,"  I  said,  "he  will  stay  so  long,  and  then 
you  will  go  to  another  room  to  dress,  and  I  do  so 
want  to  watch  you.  I  shall  be  awfully  particular 
about  your  hair." 

"  You  won't  suggest  a  hair-frame  ?  " 

"  God  forbid !  You  are  not  the  type  of  woman 
for  a  frame.  But  you  drag  your  hair  too  much  off 
your  temples  at  times,  and  although  your  forehead 
is  low  and  broad  and  all  that  a  forehead  ought  to 
be,  I  fancy  a  few  tendrils  straying  across  it  would 
look  sweet  under  your  chinchilla  toque,  and  you 
must  humour  my  fancy,  Jane." 
328 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Obediently  she  knelt  down  and  let  me  do  what 
I  would  with  her. 

"Be  very  careful  getting  into  your  skirt,"  I  com- 
manded. "Don't  ruffle  your  hair  whatever  you 
do." 

She  made  a  comical  face. 

"  What  a  fuss ! "  she  said. 

"If  you  don't  fuss  on  your  wedding-day  you 
nev^er  will.  And  men  don't  like  dow^dy  women. 
Come  here  and  I  will  fasten  your  bodice.  I  can 
if  you  will  kneel  very  close  to  me." 

For  a  moment  I  rested  my  cheek  against  the  soft, 
beautiful  fur  which  trimmed  the  bolero-bodice  — 
Nanty  had  indeed  been  generous. 

"Jane,  dear,"  I  said,  "I  am  glad  you  are  going 
to  be  married,  and  that  you  will  have  no  more 
sticky  children  to  teach.  I  should  like  to  have 
seen  the  Doctor  as  a  bridegroom.  I  feel  sure  that 
he  will  use  profane  language  in  the  stress  of  his 
emotions.  Now  put  on  your  hat  and  walk  across 
the  room  with  stately  mien  so  that  I  may  have  a 
good  look  at  you."  I  nodded  approval.  "You'll 
do.  You  look  sweet  —  a  study  in  grey.  And  you 
are  quite  tall  and  slight  in  that  elegant  frock.  I 
believe  even  Nanty  will  be  satisfied." 

She  came  and  knelt  again  by  my  couch.     How 
strong  and   yet    gentle   was   her  face!    I  thought. 
How  steady  and  clear  were  her  eyes!    How  sweet 
and  expressive  the  large,  sensitive  mouth! 
329 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  I  want  to  say  good-bye  to  you  alone  —  not 
before  the  others.  I  want  to  thank  you,  little, 
patient  Marguerite,  for  all  your  goodness  to  me '' 

"  Jane,"  I  said,  "if  you  utter  another  word  I  shall 
weep,  and  then  my  eyes  will  be  red.  Be  merciful 
to  me." 

"God  bless  you  and  keep  you!"  she  murmured 
with  a  great  earnestness,  and  then  she  bowed  her 
head  for  a  moment,  and  I  knew  that  she  was  pray- 
ing. 

Mother  forced  an  entrance. 

"  Peter  has  hidden  my  bonnet "  —  her  air  was 
tragic  —  "  and  I  can't  find  him,  he  has  hidden  him- 
self as  well." 

"He  was  under  the  pine  tree  in  the  hall  when  I 
last  saw  him,"  said  Jane.  "He  may  have  slipped 
behind  the  clock." 

"I'll  go  and  see,"  said  mother  breathlessly,  "I 
shall  never  be  ready  in  time.  The  carriages  are 
due  now."  Mother  and  Peter  were  to  have  one  to 
themselves,  and  Dimbie  was  to  take  Jane. 

She  was  back  in  a  moment. 

"  I've  got  it.  Amelia  found  it.  He  says  he  never 
touched  it,  and  that  it  was  the  Help." 

And  now  Dimbie  came  banging  at  the  door. 

"Time's  up,"  he  shouted.     "How  much  longer 
are  you  going  to  prink,  Jane  ?  "     Then  popping  his 
head    in,    "Peter   will    be    smashing    the    wedding 
presents  if  you  don't  all  hurry  up." 
330 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"I'm  ready.  What  do  you  think  of  your  wife, 
sir?"  said  Jane. 

I  covered  my  face  with  my  hands  at  the  look  in 
his  eyes. 

"Wheel  me  to  the  drawing-room,"  I  whispered 
to  him,  "you  don't  go  so  fast  as  Amelia;  and  put 
me  right  in  the  window,  so  that  I  may  see  you  all 
coming  down  the  path." 

"What  a  lovely  Marguerite!"  he  murmured, 
shutting  the  door.  "I  must  kiss  my  little  wife. 
Why,  even  your  cushions  are  gold!  You  look  like 
a  golden  lily." 

"  The  carriages  are  waiting,"  I  said. 

"I  shall  come  home  the  very  minute  I  have 
given  Jane  away;  I  shan't  wait  to  the  end.  You  will 
be  lonely." 

And  Dimbie  little  knew  how  earnestly  during  the 
next  quarter  of  an  hour  I  longed  for  the  loneliness  he 
had  predicted.  Never  had  I  more  fervently  yearned 
to  be  by  myself,  for  as  soon  as  ever  Jane  and  Dimbie 
had  driven  away  the  Help  appeared.  She  came 
slowly  and  deliberately  into  the  room  and  seated 
herself  on  a  chair  opposite  to  the  couch.  She  wore 
the  black  crepe  bonnet,  a  black  dress,  black  kid 
gloves,  and  she  carried  a  black  parasol  and  a  prayer- 
book. 

"Good  afternoon,"  I  said  politely. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  she  returned. 

"Are  you  going  —  to  a  funeral?" 
331 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

She  stared  at  me  with  hard,  black  eyes. 

"I've  come  to  the  reception." 

"Oh!"  I  said. 

"Master  said  me  and  'Melia  could  hear  their 
health  drunk  —  the  bride  and  bridgroom's." 

"But  they  are  not  here  yet." 

"No,"  she  said,  still  staring  at  me  unwaveringly. 

"  Where's  Amelia  ?  "     The  Help  alarmed  me. 

"'Melia's  gone  to  the  wedding,  and  then  she's 
going  to  run  'ome  before  the  others  to  make  the 
tea  and  coffee." 

"  Couldn't  you  make  it  ? "  I  cried  with  sudden 
relief. 

"No,  'Melia's  going  to  make  it.  She  said  I  was 
to  look  after  you  and  see  that  you  wanted  for 
nothin'." 

"  I  don't  require  anything,  thank  you;  if  I  do,  I 
will  ring." 

She  did  not  move. 

I  closed  my  eyes. 

"I  do  not  require  anything  at  present,  thank 
you,"  I  repeated. 

There  was  no  movement,  and  I  opened  my  eyes. 
The  Help  was  still  staring  at  me  unflinchingly  —  not 
a  flicker  of  an  eyelid,  not  a  movement  of  a  muscle. 

I  felt  I  was  going  to  scream. 

"  Don't  you  think,  ■ — perhaps,  it  would  be  advisable 
—  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  see  to  the  potatoes  ?  " 

I  clasped  and  unclasped  my  hands  feverishly. 
332 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"What  pertaters?" 

"  Oh  —  er  —  the  potatoes  we  are  going  to  eat." 

"We're  not  goin'  to  eat  no  pertaters.  'Melia 
never  told  me.  There's  to  be  tea,  coffee,  jelly,  and 
champagne." 

"But  shan't  we  require  some  later  on  with  our 
dinner  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  It's  to  be  'igh  tea.  There'll  be  no  time  for 
dinner." 

"But  I  should  like  potatoes." 

The  Help  looked  doubtful. 

"I  love  potatoes." 

"I'll  ask  'Melia  when  she  comes  in." 

"  There  is  no  occasion  to  ask  Amelia.  Won't  you 
go  now,  please,  Mrs. ?  " 

She  still  stared  at  me  steadfastly. 

"There's  plenty  of  time;  pertaters  only  takes  half 
an  hour." 

"It's  not  enough,"  I  cried  sharply. 

"  I've  boiled  'undreds  of  'em  —  Skerry  blues, 
magnums,  queen  of  them  all,  Cheshires  —  none  of 
'em  takes  more  than  half  an  hour." 

I  closed  my  eyes  and  clung  to  the  tortoise.  "  Oh, 
when  would  Dimbie  come.''"  I  moaned  to  myself. 
I  lay  thus  for  some  minutes.  It  seemed  ridiculous, 
absurd  to  be  frightened  of  a  mere  Help.  I  told 
myself  this  over  and  over  again.  At  length  I  ven- 
tured to  open  one  eye.  I  longed  to  know  if  the 
333 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Help  were  still  staring  at  me.  She  was,  and  I 
shut  it  again  quickly.  What  was  I  to  do.?  When 
would  the  wedding  be  over.'*  I  opened  my  eye 
again.  The  Help  was  staring  harder  than  ever. 
Most  wickedly  I  wished  that  she  could  be  struck 
dead  by  lightning.  But  it  was  unlikely,  the  day 
was  brilliantly  fine  and  sunny.  Now  I  put  a  hand- 
kerchief over  my  eyes.  I  would  not  look  at  the 
Help.  The  gate  banged.  I  heard  Dimbie's  step, 
and  he  came  into  the  room,  but  I  dare  not  remove 
the  handkerchief. 

"What  is  it.?"  he  cried  anxiously.  "Are  you 
poorly.  Marguerite  ?  " 

"Come  here,"  I  said. 

He  stooped  down. 

"Is  the  Help  still  staring.?"  I  whispered. 

"Yes." 

"  Can  you  get  her  out  of  the  room  ?  " 

He  began  to  laugh. 

"  Can  you  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"Of  course." 

"Well,  do  so  quickly,  please." 

His  voice  rang  out  pleasantly  and  commandingly^ — 

"Will  you  go  and  tell  Amelia,  please,  that  when 
the  carriage  returns  I  shall  be  glad  if  she  will  give 
the  coachmen  some  dinner  —  some  meat  and 
potatoes." 

*Would  the  Help  think  that  we  were  all  in  a 
conspiracy  to  make  her  boil  potatoes.? 
334 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"  'Melia  is  not  here." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"At  the  weddin'." 

"Well,  then,  you  go  and  get  the  dinner  ready, 
please." 

She  looked  at  her  black  dress  and  gloves  and 
parasol. 

"I  didn't  know  as  there  was  to  be  eookin'.  I've 
got  my  best  dress  on." 

"You  can  put  on  an  apron,"  I  said  gently. 

She  wavered. 

Dimbie  opened  the  door  for  her  as  he  would  have 
opened  it  for  a  duchess,  and  looked  at  her. 

She  rose,  carefully  placed  her  parasol  and  prayer- 
book  on  the  chair  in  order  to  reserve  it  for  future 
use,  and  unwillingly  went  out  of  the  room. 

"Move  the  chair  quickly,"  I  gasped,  "and  hide 
the  parasol  and  prayer-book.  That  woman  must 
never  be  permitted  to  stare  at  me  again  or  I  shall  go 
mad.  How  could  you  tell  her  that  she  might  come 
in  to  hear  the  health  of  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
drunk?" 

"  She  asked  me.  What  could  I  say  ?  "  said  Dimbie 
ruefully. 

"And  dressed  up  as  though  she  were  going  to  a 
funeral " 

Dimbie  began  to  laugh. 

"And  is  she  going  to  hand  tea  to  the  guests  in 
a  crepe  bonnet  ?  " 

335 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Can't  say,  you  are  the  mistress  of  the  house." 

"Oh,  Dimbie,  what  shall  I  do?  I  daren't  tell 
her  to  remove  it." 

"  Wait  till  Amelia  comes  home.  She'll  manage  her." 

Amelia  came  rushing  through  the  gate,  and  I 
signalled  to  her  from  the  window. 

"Yes,  mum!" 

"  The  Help  is  —  wearing  a  crepe  bonnet.  I 
thought  you  said  she  was  to  wear  a  cap  and  collar 
and  cuflFs  ?  " 

"So  she  is,  mum.  She  must  have  slipped  into 
that  bonnet  the  minute  my  back  was  turned.  She'll 
be  out  of  it  in  a  jiffy,  I'll  see  to  that.  She's  that 
deceitful,  she'll  wear  me  into  my  grave.  And  the 
weddin'  was  that  beautiful!  Miss  Fairbrother 
looked " 

"I  think  I  hear  a  carriage,"  I  interrupted;  and 
Amelia  miraculously  flew  into  lier  cap  and  apron, 
and  the  next  moment  announced  — 

"Doctor  and  Mrs.  Renton." 

Jane  advanced  to  the  couch  with  outstretched 
hands.     Her  eyes  were  shining  and  her  lips  smiling. 

"Did  your  husband  swear .^"  I  asked  as  she 
kissed  me. 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  How's  my 
patient  to-day  ?  " 

"Quite  well,  thank  you,"  I  replied.  "Now  that 
you've  got  Jane  safely  tied  up  you'll  begin  to  re- 
member that  you  have  some  patients  hanging  on 
336 


Dimbie  and  1  —  and  Amelia 

your  words.     Jane,  he  mustn't  let  liis  praxjtice  go 
to  the  wall.     You  have  to  live,  you  know." 

"  There's  another  carriage,"  said  Dimbie,  looking 
through  the  window.  "  Ah,  and  here's  Nanty !  — 
what  a  howling  swell !  —  and  a  whole  host  of  people 
I  don't  know." 

"  Jane,  I  am  frightened  of  Miss  Rebecca  Sharp. 
Stand  by  me  when  you  introduce  us.  I  am  not 
used  to  Suffragettes,"  I  said. 

And  a  most  delightful  half-hour  followed,  while 
we  discussed  Jane's  and  Amelia's  united  efforts  at 
refreshments.  Dimbie  would  not  permit  my 
being  wheeled  to  the  refreshment-room  and  noise, 
so  my  cake  and  champagne  were  brought  to  the 
drawing-room,  and  I  was  entertained  in  turn  by 
Nanty  and  Professor  Leighrail,  the  Doctor  and 
Jane,  Miss  Rebecca  Sharp,  who  was  most  mild 
and  unassuming,  Mr.  Tom  Renton,  the  best  man, 
who  ran  to  a  hea\y  moustache  and  pimples,  and 
even  Peter  came  for  a  moment  to  give  me  his  opinion 
of  Amelia's  jelly. 

Nanty  and  the  Professor  interested  me  greatly. 
She,  resplendent  in  purple  velvet  and  old  lace,  was 
composed  and  sarcastic;  he  genial,  happy,  and 
detached. 

"Down  with  all  weddings!"  was  the  gist  of  her 
conversation. 

"  Do  all  you  can  to  encourage  them,"  said  the 
Professor  cheerfully. 

337 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

"Disillusionment  and  misery  are  the  inevitable 
sequence."  Nanty  nibbled  at  the  almond  on  a 
piece  of  wedding-cake. 

"Happiness  and  a  fuller  life  are  the  natural 
result."     The  Professor  waved  his  glass  in  the  air. 

She  regarded  him  with  amusement. 

"  And  you  really  think  so  ?  " 

"I  do,  madam." 

"You  are  optimistic." 

"There  was  a  time  when  I  believed  that  the 
world  contained  no  happiness." 

"And  now?" 

"  Now  I  am  older,  and  think  that  most  people  are 
as  happy  as  they  will  allow  themselves  to  be." 

"  But  the  sin,  the  suffering .? " 

"  Many  sufferers  are  happy."  (His  glance  rested 
for  a  second  upon  me.)  "And  as  for  the  sinners  — 
well,  surely  they  wouldn't  sin  if  they  didn't  enjoy  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  your  philosophy." 

"Madam,  I  am  open  to  argument." 

"The  room  is  too  warm  for  discussion." 

"  It  is  pleasant  in  the  garden,  and  there  are  some 
late  roses.     Will  you  come  ?  " 

Nanty  hesitated. 

He  held  out  his  arm. 

"The  sunshine  is  inviting." 

"Perhaps  it  is,"  she  admitted;  and  laying  a 
beautifully-gloved  hand  lightly  upon  his  arm,  she 
went  out  with  him. 

338 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

Dimbie  came  in  and  found  me  smiling. 

"What  is  it,  girl?" 

His  eyes  followed  mine  through  the  wandow. 

"  Humph ! "  he  said. 

"He  asked  her  to  go  and  look  at  the  roses." 

"  And  now  I  suppose  you  are  happy  ?  " 

"  Nanty's  and  the  Professor's  desire  for  roses  does 
not  affect  my  happiness,"  I  said  gravely. 

"Liar!"     He  laughed,  stroking  my  hair. 

And  now  the  bride  and  bridegroom  came  to  say 
"good-bye."  The  Doctor  held  back  wliile  Jane 
kissed  me  and  said,  "I'll  come  back  soon,  little  old 
pupil;  and  I  will  drive  over  the  day  after  our  return 
and  tell  you  everything."  Her  eyes  were  full  of 
unshed  tears.  The  Doctor  held  my  hand  in  a 
strong,  close  grip,  and  they  were  gone. 

Through  the  window  I  could  see  everyone  assem- 
bled on  the  path.  Confetti  was  in  the  air,  congratu- 
lations, good-byes.  The  Help  with  her  cap  all 
askew,  into  which  Amelia  had  insisted  upon  her 
changing,  hurled  rice  and  a  slipper  at  the  retreating 
cab.  And  so  Jane  and  the  Doctor  drove  away  to 
happiness. 


339 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  DEATH  OF  A  LITTLE  BLACK  CHICKEN 

A  DAY  has  come,  still,  cold  and  grey,  when  you 
say,  "  There  is  snow  in  the  air,"  and  you  are 
not  sorry.  The  first  snow  is  curiously  attractive. 
Before,  you  are  a  little  doubtful  as  to  the  season. 
Is  it  late  autumn  —  there  are  still  a  few  leaves  on 
the  beech  tree  —  or  has  winter  arrived  ?  You  would 
like  to  know;  you  object  to  being  in  uncertainty 
about  your  seasons.  And  then  the  snow  comes  one 
night  very  softly  but  very  surely,  and  you  wake  in 
the  morning  to  find  that  the  thing  is  accomplished 
—  winter  has  come.  Your  furs  are  reached  out, 
your  last  thin  frock  is  laid  away,  your  eider-downs 
are  aired,  and  you  are  quite  resigned,  you  have  no 
regrets.  The  summer  brought  you  treasures  in 
abundance,  scattered  largess  with  prodigal  hand. 
But  winter  is  no  niggard.  It  gives  you  branches  of 
trees  stripped  of  their  greenery,  but  beautiful  in 
their  form  and  shape.  You  had  forgotten  that  the 
apple  tree  had  a  delicious  crook  here,  a  bend  of  the 
knee  there,  and  a  graceful  arm  with  finely-turned 
wrist  held  out  to  its  neighbours  in  the  field  in  a 
spirit  of  friendsliip.  And  winter  gives  you  brown 
340 


Dimbie  and  1  —  and  Amelia 

fields  —  sad,  you  were  about  to  say,  but  your  pen 
halts  at  the  word.  They  are  not  sad,  they  are  but 
resting  and  waiting.  "All  things  must  rest." 
Those  quiet,  brown  fields  have  done  their  work, 
they  have  yielded  great  riches,  they  have  given  of 
their  best.  Now  is  their  season  of  peace,  and  they 
will  be  ready  after  their  winter  sleep  for  more  work. 

Winter  gives  you  red  suns  and  clear,  frosty  nights. 
It  gives  you  the  friendship  of  little  birds  who  in 
summer  are  shy  and  not  to  be  won.  You  are  not 
deceived  by  their  sudden  overtures;  it  is  not  you, 
you  loiow.  It  is  the  cocoa-nut  hanging  in  front  of 
the  window,  and  the  crumbs  on  the  lawn,  and  the 
succulent  bit  of  mutton-fat  suspended  from  the 
apple  tree.  But  you  are  glad  to  have  them  at  any 
price;  the  tits'  jo}^iul  chatter  and  the  wrens'  hurried 
warble,  and  the  clear,  sweet  note  of  the  robin  en- 
liven the  atmosphere.  They  make  no  pretence  of 
being  fine  musicians,  like  their  sometime  friend 
the  thrush;  but  they  say,  "What's  the  good  of  being 
a  singer  if  you  keep  your  mouth  or  bill  shut  for 
six  months  in  the  year?"  And  I  smile  behind 
my  hand  and  partly  agree  with  them,  though  I 
dare  not  let  tlie  thrush  hear  me.  I  gave  him  a 
great  welcome  in  the  spring,  and  he  would  think  me 
faithless  were  I  now  to  speak  of  him  disparagingly. 

And  winter  brings  in  its  wake  great  glowing  fires 
and  warm,  lamplit  rooms,  and  a  feeling  of  snug 
cosiness  when  the  curtains  are  drawn. 
341 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

They  have  pushed  my  couch  close  to  the  fire,  for 
I  am  a  shivery  mortal  these  days,  and  from  my 
corner  I  can  see  the  grey  sky,  the  still,  bare  trees, 
and  I  can  feel  the  hush  in  the  air  which  ever  pre- 
cedes the  snow. 

Anxiously  I  hope  that  Dimbie  will  be  home  be- 
fore it  comes,  for  he  is  many  miles  from  here  — 
gone  at  my  request  to  satisfy  a  longing,  a  desire  of 
mine  which  has  been  with  me  for  many  weeks, 
which  has  lain  very  close  to  my  heart,  and  which 
has  now  become  so  insistent  that  it  cannot  be 
hushed.  It  has  been  wdth  me  by  day,  I  have  whis- 
pered it  in  the  long  hours  of  the  night,  "How  fares 
the  tiny  black  chicken  ?  "  Has  it  suffered,  lived  on 
since  that  cruel  moment  when  my  bicycle  crushed  it 
to  earth,  or  was  its  life  snatched  away  from  it?  If 
it  has  hved  it  will  be  a  big  chicken  now.  The  soft 
down  will  have  become  feathers,  the  wee  legs  will 
have  grown  long  and  thin. 

This  morning  I  found  courage  to  voice  my  re- 
quest, to  tell  Dimbie  of  my  longing.  At  the  first 
word  he  started,  and  his  face  became  set.  He 
walked  to  the  window  and  drummed  on  the  panes. 

"  You  don't  mind,  Dimbie  ?  You'll  go  for  me  ?  " 
I  pleaded. 

"  But  why  ?    Why  do  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

"I  cannot  tell,"   I   replied.     "It  may  be  silly, 
morbid,  but  I  feel  as  though  —  one  or  two  things 
might  be  made  clear  to  me  if  I  knew." 
342 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

He  did  not  speak  for  a  long  time.  His  back  was 
to  me,  and  I  could  not  see  his  face.  Presently  he 
said,  without  looking  round,  "I'll  go.  I  cannot 
refuse  you  anything,  Marg.  But  I  don't  like  it. 
The  chicken  may  be  gone." 

"Gone.?" 

"Well  — dead." 

"And  if  it  is,"  I  said  softly,  "I  shan't  mind.  I 
shall  know  —  and  be  satisfied." 

He  came  and  knelt  by  the  couch. 

"  But  won't  you  be  lonely,  girl  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Are  you  better  to-day,  sweetheart.?  Do  you 
think  you  are  any  stronger.?  That  wedding  was 
too  much  for  you." 

Each  day  my  dear  one  abuses  poor  Jane's  wed- 
ding. I  had  been  overtired  that  night,  faint,  with  a 
singing  in  my  ears  and  the  sound  of  many  waters 
surging  around  me.  And  each  day  also  he  says, 
"  You  are  a  httle  stronger,  I  think,  don't  you  ? " 
But  he  does  not  wait  for  an  answer.  Sometimes 
it  is  better  to  leave  a  question  unanswered. 

Oh,  my  husband,  will  you  ever  know,  ever  under- 
stand how  much  happiness  you  have  given  to  me  ? 
Before  I  knew  you  life  was  an  arid  wilderness.  I 
was  but  young,  but  there  was  always  Peter.  After- 
wards I  came  to  a  garden  of  roses  and  lilies  set  about 
with  the  tender  green  of  spring.  And  our  year! 
How  wonderful  it  has  been!  Sorrow  came  to  us, 
343 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

but  joy  entered  a  little  later.  Sorrow  we  thrust 
forth,  and  joy  crept  still  closer,  and  has  remained 
with  us  even  to  the  end.  Sorrow  will  dog  Dimbie's 
footsteps  for  a  little  season,  but  joy  will  triumph 
over  all  —  "  for  here  we  have  no  continuing  city." 

Dimbie  came  home  as  the  first  snowilake  brushed 
tlie  window-pane.  In  the  firehght  he  knelt  and  told 
me  of  the  strange  tiling  that  had  happened.  He 
found  the  cottage,  and  as  he  entered  the  little 
chicken  turned  over  on  its  side,  stretched  its  legs 
and  died.  A  child  with  golden  hair  leaned  over  it 
and  wept  bitterly. 

"  And  had  it  suffered  ?  "  I  whispered. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"The  woman  said  not,  but  it  was  lamed.  The 
child  from  the  day  of  the  accident  cared  for  it, 
tended  it,  nursed  it.  It  slept  in  a  box  in  the  kitchen, 
and  became  very  tame.  The  woman  is  a  widow, 
and  this  little  one  the  only  child." 

"Did  you  tell  her  of  —  me?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Dimbie  gently. 

I  laid  my  cheek  to  his,  and  he  stroked  my  hair 
in  his  old,  dear  fashion.  And  we  sat  thus,  and 
once  again  told  each  other  the  old,  old  story  of  our 
love.  The  soft  snow  brushed  the  window-pane, 
the  comers  of  the  room  became  shadowy  and  myste- 
rious, and  hand  in  hand  we  waited  for  the  light  which 
always  follows  the  darkness. 
344 


AN  AFTERWORD 


T3E  pen  has  fallen  from  Marguerite's  hand 
never  again  to  be  taken  up.  And  we  who 
wait  for  the  lifting  of  the  veil  find  it  hard  not  to 
question  the  why  and  the  wherefore. 

Hers  was  a  beautiful,  blameless  life.  Her  suffer- 
ing was  borne  with  a  great  patience  and  cheerful- 
ness, and  we  cry  and  cry  again,  "Why  should  this 
be.?" 

Jane  Renton's  philosophy  is  simple :  "  God  wanted 
her  more  than  we." 

But  to  me  it  seems  such  love  as  theirs  —  of  hus- 
band and  wife  —  should  have  been  allowed  to  con- 
tinue yet  a  little  while  longer.  Jane  says  it  will 
outlast  the  ages.  To  Jane  has  been  given  a  faith, 
an  understanding  which  has  been  withheld  from 
many.  Her  eyes  can  see  while  ours  are  blinded 
with  tears. 

I  have  her  husband's  sanction  to  give  her  simple 
story  to  the  world.  "It  may  help  to  brighten  the 
life  of  some  other  sufferer,  and  she  would  be  glad," 
I  said,  and  he  bowed  his  head. 

The  last  night  of  her  life  was  one  of  silver,  as  she 
345 


Dimbie  and  I  —  and  Amelia 

herself  would  have  described  it,  for  the  moon  turned 
the  earth  with  its  soft  mantle  of  snow  into  silver 
sheen.  We  drew  back  the  curtains  and  pushed 
the  bed  still  nearer  to  the  window.  Dimbie's  arms 
pillowed  her  head.  From  unconsciousness  she 
kept  creeping  back  to  moments  of  consciousness, 
and  she  would  speak  a  httle.  Once  she  murmured 
something  about  a  httle  black  chicken,  and  always 
the  word  "Dimbie"  was  upon  her  lips.  At  the 
last  we  left  them  alone.  By  and  by  Dimbie  came 
out  of  the  room  and  passed  out  into  the  moonlit 
night.  She  would  be  glad  that  it  was  so,  that  there 
was  the  moonlight,  and  that  while  her  spirit  winged 
its  way  to  eternal  light  there  was  a  reflection  of  its 
brightness  left  for  her  Dimbie. 

Nanty. 

THE   END. 


346 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET   &    DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little   Prices 

NEW.  CLEVER,  ENTERTAININa 

GRET :    The  Story  of  a  Pagan.    By  Beatrice  Mantle.    Illustrated 
by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

The  wild  free  life  of  an  Oregon  lumber  camp  furnishes  the  setting  for  this 
strong  original  story.  Gret  is  the  daughter  of  the  camp  and  is  utterly  con- 
tent with  the  wild  life— until  love  conies.  A  fine  book,  unmarred  by  con- 
vention. 

OLD   CHESTER   TALES.     By  Margaret  Deland.     Illustrated 
by  Howard  Pyle. 

A  vivid  yet  delicate  portrayal  of  characters  in  an  old  New  England  town. 

Dr.  Lavendar's  fine,  kindly  wisdom  is  brought  to  bear  upon  the  lives  of 
all,  permeating  the  whole  volume  hke  the  pungent  odor  of  pine,  healthful 
and  life  giving.  "  Old  Chester  Tales  "  will  surely  be  among  tlie  books  that 
abide. 

THE  MEMOIRS  OF  A  BABY.    By  Josephine  Daskam.    Illus- 
trated by  F.  Y.  Cory. 

The  dawning  intelligence  of  the  baby  was  grappled  with  by  its  great  aunt, 
an  elderly  maiden,  whose  book  knowledge  of  babies  was  something  at  which 
even  the  infant  himself  winked.    A  delicious  bit  of  humor. 
REBECCA  MARY.      By  Annie  Hamilton  Donnell.      Illustrated 
by  Elizabeth  Shippen  Green. 

The  heart  tragedies  of  this  little  girl  with  no  one  near  to  share  them,  are 
told  with  a  delicate  art,  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  needs  of  the  childish 
heart  and  a  humorous  knowledge  of  the  workings  of  the  childish  mind. 
THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL.    By  Katharine  CecU  Thurston. 
Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  Irish  story  of  real  power,  perfect  in  development  and  showing  a  true 
conception  of  the  spirited  Hibernian  character  as  displayed  in  the  tragic  as 
well  as  the  tender  phases  of  life. 

THE  MAN  FROM  BRODNEY'S.    By  George  BarrMcCutcheon. 
Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  island  in  the  South  Sea  is  the  setting  for  this  entertaining  tale,  and 
an  all-conquering  hero  and  a  beautiful  princess  figure  in  a  most  complicated 
plot.    One  of  Mr.  McCutcheon's  best  books. 

TOLD  BY  UNCLE  REMUS.     By  Joel  Chandler  Harris.     Illus- 
trated by  A.  B.  Frost,  J.  M.  Conde  and  Frank  Verbeck. 

Again  Uncle  Remus  enters  the  fields  of  childhood,  and  leads  another 
little  boy  to  that  non-locatable  land  called  "  Brer  Rabbit's  Laughing 
place,"  and  again  the  quaint  animals  spring  into  active  life  and  play  their 
parts,  for  the  edification  of  a  small  but  appreciative  audience. 

THE  CLIMBER.    By  E.  F.  Benson.     With  frontispiece. 

An  unsparing  analysis  of  an   ambitious  woman's  soul— a  woman  who 

believed  that  in  social  supremacy  she  would  find  happiness,  and  who  finds 

instead  the  utter  despair  of  one  who  has  chosen  the  things  that  pass  away. 

LYNCH'S  DAUGHTER.    By  Leonard  Merrick.    Illustrated  by 

Geo.  Brehm. 

A  story  of  to-day,  telling  how  a  rich  girl  acquires  ideals  of  beautiful  and 
simple  living,  and  of  men  and  love,  quite  apart  from  the  teachings  of  her 
father,  "  Old  Man  Lynch  "^oflWall  St.    True  to  life,  clever  in  treatment. 

Grosset  &  DuNLAP,  526  West  26th  St.  ,  New  York 


GROSSET  &   DUNLAP'S 

DRAMATIZED  NOVELS 

A  Few  that  are  Making  Theatrical  History 

MARY  JANE'S  PA.  By  Norman  Way,  Illustrated  with  scenes 
from  the  play. 
Delightful,  irresponsible  "  Jlary  Jane's  Pa  "  awakes  one  morning  to  find 
himselt  famous,  and,  genius  being  ill  adapted  to  domestic  ioys,  he  wanders 
from  home  to  work  out  his  own  unique  destiny.  One  of  the  most  humorous 
bits  of  recent  fiction. 

CHERUB  DEVINE.    By  SeweU  Ford, 

"  Cherub,"  a  good  hearted  but  not  over  refined  young  man  is  brought  in 
touch  with  the  aristocracy.  Of  sprightly  wit,  he  is  sometimes  a  merciless 
analyst,  but  he  proves  in  the  end  that  manhood  counts  for  more  than  anci- 
ent lineage  by  winning  the  love  of  the  fairest  girl  in  the  flock. 

A  WOMAN'S  WAY.     By  Charles  Somerville.    Illustrated  with 
scenes  from  the  play. 
A  story  in  which  a  woman's  wit  and  self-sacrificing  love  save  her  husband 
from  the  toils  of  an  adventuress,  and  change  an  apparently  tragic  situation 
into  one  of  delicious  comedy. 

THE  CLIMAX.    By  George  C.  Jenks, 

With  ambition  luring  her  on,  a  young  choir  soprano  leaves  the  little  village 
where  she  was  born  and  the  limited  audience  of  St.  Jude's  to  train  for  the 
opera  in  New  York.  She  leaves  love  behind  her  and  meets  love  more  ardent 
but  not  more  sincere  in  her  new  environment.  How  she  works,  how  she 
studies,  how  she  suffers,  are  vividly  portrayed. 

A  FOOL  THERE  WAS.  By  Porter  Emerson  Browne.  Illus- 
trated by  Edmund  Magrath  and  W.  W.  Fawcett. 
A  relentless  portrayal  of  the  career  of  a  man  who  comes  under  the  influence 
of  a  beautiful  but  evil  woman ;  how  she  lures  him  on  and  on,  how  he 
struggles,  falls  and  rises,  only  to  fall  again  into  her  net,  make  a  story  of 
unflinching  reahsm 

THE   SQUAW    MAN.     By  Julie   Opp   Faversham  and   Edwin 
Milton  Royle.     Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  glowing  story,  rapid  in  action,  bright  in  dialogue  with  a  fine  courageous 
hero  and  a  beautiful  English  heroine. 

THE  GIRL   IN  WAITING.     By  Archibald  Eyre.     Illustrated 
with  scenes  from  the  play. 
A  droll  little  comedy  of  misunderstandings,  told  with  a  light  touch,  a  ven- 
turesome spirit  and  an  eye  for  human  oddities. 

THE    SCARLET    PIMPERNEL.     By  Baroness  Orczy.     Illus- 
trated with  scenes  from  the  play. 
A  realistic  story  of  the  days  of  the  French  Revolution,  abounding  in 
dramatic  incident,  with  a  young  English  soldier  of  fortune,  daring,  mysteri- 
ous as  the  hero. 

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CY  WHITTAKER'S  PLACE.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Illustrated  by  Wallace  Morgan. 

A  Cape  Cod  story  describing  tlie  amusing  efforts  of  an  el- 
derly bachelor  and  his  two  cronies  to  rear  and  educate  a  little 
girl.     Full  of  honest  fun — a  rural  drama. 
THE  FORGE  IN  THE  FOREST.     By  Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.     Illustrated  by  H.  Sandham. 

A  story  of  the  conflict  in  Acadia  after  its  conquest  by  the 
British.  A  dramatic  picture  that  lives  and  shines  with  the  in- 
definable chann  of  poetic  romance. 

A  SISTER  TO  EVANGELINE.      By   Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.     Illustrated  by  E.  McConnell. 

Being  the  story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went 
into  exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pr^.  Swift  action, 
fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passion  and  search- 
ing analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 
THE  OPENED  SHUTTERS.  By  Clara  Louise  Burn- 
ham.     Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

A  summer  haunt  on  an  island  in  Casco  Bay  is  the  back- 
ground for  this  romance.  A  beautiful  woman,  at  discord  with 
life,  is  brought  to  realize,  by  her  new  friends,  that  she  may 
open  the  shutters  of  her  soul  to  the  blessed  sunlight  of  joy  by 
casting  aside  vanity  and  self  love.  A  delicately  humorous 
work  with  a  lofty  motive  underlying  it  all. 
THE  RIGHT  PRINCESS.    By  Clara  Louise  Bumham. 

An  amusing  story,  opening  at  a  fashionable  Long  Island  re- 
sort, where  a  stately  Englishwoman  employs  a  forcible  New 
England  housekeeper  to  serve  in  her  interesting  home.  How 
types  so  widely  apart  react  on  each  others'  lives,  all  to  ulti- 
mate good,  makes  a  story  both  humorous  and  rich  in  sentiment. 
THE  LEAVEN  OF  LOVE.  By  Clara  Louise  Burn- 
ham.    Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

At  a  Southern  California  resort  a  world-weary  woman,  young 
and  beautiful  but  disillusioned,  meets  a  girl  who  has  learned 
the  art  of  living — of  tasting  life  in  all  its  richness,  opulence  and 
joy.  The  story  hinges  upon  the  change  wrought  in  the  soul 
of  the  blas^  woman  by  this  glimpse  into  a  cheery  life. 

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QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER.  A  Picture  of  New 
England  Home  Life.  With  illustrations  by  C.  W. 
Reed,  and  Scenes  Reproduced  from  the  Play. 

One  of  the  best  New  England  stories  ever  written.  It  is 
full  of  homely  human  interest  *  *  *  there  is  a  wealth  of  New 
England  village  character,  scenes  and  incidents  *  *  *  forcibly, 
vividly  and  truthfully  drawn.  Few  books  have  enjoyed  a 
greater  sale  and  popularity.  Dramatized,  it  made  the  great- 
est rural  play  of  recent  times. 

THE    FURTHER    ADVENTURES    OF    QUINCY 
ADAMS   SAWYER.     By   Charles  Felton   Pidgin. 
Illustrated  by  Henry  Roth. 
All  who  love  honest  sentiment,  quaint  and  sunny  humor, 
and  homespun  philosophy  will  find  these   "  Further  Adven- 
tures" a  book  after  their  own  heart. 

HALF  A  CHANCE.  By  Frederic  S.  Isham.  Illus- 
trated by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

The  thrill  of  excitement  will  keep  the  reader  in  a  state  of 
suspense,  and  he  will  become  personally  concerned  from  the 
start,  as  to  the  central  character,  a  very  real  man  who  suffers, 
dares — and  achieves ! 

VIRGINIA  OF  THE  AIR  LANES.  By  Herbert 
Quick.  Illustrated  by  William  R.  Leigh. 
The  author  has  seized  the  romantic  moment  for  the  airship 
novel,  and  created  the  pretty  story  of  "  a  lover  and  his  lass  '* 
contendin?  with  an  elderly  relative  for  the  monopoly  of  the 
skies.    An  exciting  tale  of  adventure  in  midair, 

THE  GAME  AND  THE  CANDLE.  By  Eleanor  M. 
Ingram.  Illustrated  by  P.  D.  Johnson. 
The  hero  is  a  young  American,  who,  to  save  his  family  from 
poverty,  deliberately  commits  a  felony.  Then  follow  his  cap- 
ture and  imprisonment,  and  his  rescue  by  a  Russian  Grand 
Duke.     A  stirring  story,  rich  in  sentiment. 

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BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY.     By  Philip  VerriU  Mighels. 

An  uproariously  funny  story  of  a  tiny  mining  settlement  in  the 
West,  which  is  shaken  to  the  very  roots  by  the  sudden  possession 
of  a  baby,  found  on  the  plains  by  one  of  its  residents.  The  town  is 
as  disreputable  a  spot  as  the  gold  fever  was  ever  responsible  for, 
and  the  coming  of  that  baby  causes  the  upheaval  of  every  rooted 
tradition  of  the  place.  Its  christening,  the  problems  of  its  toys  and 
its  illness  supersede  in  the  minds  of  the  miners  all  thought  of  earthy 
treasure. 

THE  FURNACE  OF  GOLD.  By  Philip  VerriU  Mighels, 
author  of  "Bruvver  Jim's  Baby."  Illustrations  by  J.  N. 
Marchand. 

An  accurate  and  informing  portrayal  of  scenes,  types,  and  condi- 
tions of  the  mining  districts  in  modern  Nevada. 

The  book  is  an  out-door  story,  clean,  exciting,  exemplifying  no- 
bility and  courage  of  character,  and  bravery,  and  heroism  in  the  sort 
of  men  and  women  we  all  admire  and  wish  to  know. 

THE  MESSAGE.  By  Louis  Tracy.  Illustrations  by  Joseph 
C.  Chase. 
A  breezy  tale  of  how  a  bit  of  old  parchment,  concealed  in  a  figure- 
head from  a  sunken  vessel,  comes  into  the  possession  of  a  pretty 
girl  and  an  army  man  during  regatta  week  in  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
This  is  the  message  and  it  enfolds  a  mystery,  the  development  of 
which  the  reader  will  follow  with  breathless  interest. 

THE  SCARLET  EMPIRE.    By  David  M.  Parry.     lUus- 

trations  by  Hermann  C.  Wall. 

A  young  socialist,  weary  of  life,  plunges  into  the  sea  and  awakes 
in  the  lost  island  of  Atlantis,  known  as  the  Scarlet  Empire,  where 
a  social  democracy  is  in  full  operation,  granting  every  man  a  living 
but  limiting  food,  conversation,  education  and  marriage. 

The  hero  passes  through  an  enthralling  love  affair  and  other  ad- 
ventures but  finally  returns  to  his  own  New  York  world. 

THE  THIRD  DEGREE.  By  Charles  Klein  and  Arthur 
Homblow.     Illustrations  by  Clarence  Rowe. 

A  novel  which  exposes  the  abuses  in  this  country  of  the  police 
system. 

The  son  of  an  aristocratic  New  York  family  marries  a  woman 
socially  beneath  him,  but  of  strong,  womanly  qualities  that,  later 
on,  save  the  man  from  the  tragic  consequences  of  a  dissipated  life. 

The  wife  believes  in  his  innocence  and  her  wit  and  good  sense 
help  her  to  win  against  the  tremendous  odds  imposed  by  law. 

THE  THIRTEENTH  DISTRICT.  By  Brand  Whitlock. 
A  realistic  western  story  of  love  and  politics  and  a  searching  study 
of  their  influence  on  character.  The  author  shows  with  extraordi- 
nary vitality  of  treatment  the  tricks,  the  heat,  the  passion,  the  tu- 
mult of  the  political  arena  the  triumph  and  strength  of  love. 

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THE  MUSIC  MASTER.  By  Charles  Klein.  Illustrated 
by  John  Rae. 
This  marvelously  vivid  narrative  tarns  upon  the  search  of  a  Ger- 
man musician  in  JNew  York  for  his  httle  daughter.  Mr.  Klein  has 
well  portrayed  his  pathetic  struggle  with  poverty,  his  varied  expe- 
riences in  endeavoring  to  meet  the  demands  of  a  public  not  trained 
to  an  appreciation  of  the  classic,  and  his  final  great  hour  when,  in 
the  rapidly  shifting  events  of  a  big  city,  his  little  daughter,  now  a 
beautif  nl  young  woman,  is  brought  to  his  very  door.  A  superb  bit 
of  fiction,  palpitating  with  the  life  of  the  great  metropolis.  The 
play  in  which  David  Warfield  scored  his  highest  success. 

DR.  LAVENDAR'S  PEOPLE.  By  Margaret  Deland. 
Illustrated  by  Lucius  Hitchcock. 
Mrs.  Deland  won  so  many  friends  through  Old  Chester  Tales 
that  this  volume  needs  no  introduction  beyond  its  title.  The  lova- 
ble doctor  is  more  ripened  in  this  later  book,  and  the  simple  come- 
dies and  tragedies  of  the  old  village  are  told  with  dramatic  charm. 

OLD  CHESTER  TALES.  By  Margaret  Deland.  Illustrated 
by  Howard  Pyle. 
Stories  portraying  with  delightful  humor  and  pathos  a  quaint  peo- 
ple in  a  sleepy  old  town.  Dr.  Lavendar,  a  very  human  and  lovable 
"preacher,"  is  the  connecting  link  between  these  dramatic  stories 
from  life. 

HE  FELL  IN  LOVE  WITH  HIS  WIFE.    By  E.  P.  Roe. 

With  frontispiece. 
The  hero  is  a  farmer — a  man  with  honest,  sincere  views  of  life. 
Beieft  of  his  wife,  his  home  is  cared  for  by  a  succession  of  domes- 
tics of  varying  degrees  of  inefficiency  until,  from  a  most  unpromis- 
ing source,  comes  a  young  woman  who  not  only  becomes  his  wife 
but  commands  his  respect  and  eventually  wins  his  love.  A  bright 
and  deUcate  romance,  revealing  on  both  sides  a  love  that  surmounts 
all  difficulties  and  survives  the  censure  of  friends  as  well  as  the  bit- 
terness of  enemies. 

THE  YOKE.    By  Elizabeth  MiUer. 

Against  the  historical  background  of  the  days  when  the  children 
of  Israel  were  delivered  from  the  bondage  of  Egypt,  the  author  has 
sketched  a  romance  of  compelling  charm.  A  biblical  novel  as  great 
as  any  since  "  Ben  Hur." 

SAUL  OF  TARSUS.  By  Elizabeth  Miller.  Illustrated  by 
Andrd  Castaigne. 
The  scenes  of  this  story  are  laid  in  Jerusalem,  Alexandria,  Rome 
and  Damascus.  The  Apostle  Paul,  the  Martyr  Stephen,  Herod 
Aprrippa  and  the  Emperors  Tiberius  and  Caligula  are  among  the 
mighty  figures  that  move  through  the  pages.  Wonderful  descrip- 
tions, and  a  love  story  of  the  purest  and  noblest  type  mark  this 
most  remarkable  rehgious  romance. 

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I 


A  FEW  OF 

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WHEN  A  MAN  MARRIES.  Bjr  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 
Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher  and  Mayo  Bunker. 

A  young  artist,  whose  wife  had  recently  divorced  him,  finds  that 
a  visit  is  due  from  his  Aunt  Selina,  an  elderly  lady  having  ideas 
about  things  quite  apart  from  the  Bohemian  set  in  which  her 
nephew  is  a  shining  light.  The  way  in  which  matters  are  tempo- 
rarily adjusted  forms  the  motif  of  the  story. 

A  farcical  extravaganza,  dramatized  under  the  title  of  "Seven  Days" 

THE  FASHIONABLE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOSHUA 
CRAIG.     By  David  Graham  Phillips.     Illustrated. 

A  young  westerner,  uncouth  and  unconventional,  appears  in 
political  and  social  life  in  Washington.  He  attains  power  in  poli- 
tics, and  a  young  woman  of  the  exclusive  set  becomes  his  wife,  un- 
dertaking his  education  in  social  amenities. 

"  DOC."  GORDON.  By  Mary  E.  Wilkins-Freeman.  Illus- 
trated by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Against  the  familiar  background  of  American  town  life,  the 
author  portrays  a  group  of  people  strangely  involved  in  a  mystery. 
"Doc."  Gordon,  the  one  physician  of  the  place.  Dr.  Elliot,  his 
assistant,  a  beautiful  woman  and  her  altogether  charming  daughter 
are  all  involved  in  the  plot.     A  novel  of  great  interest. 

HOLY  ORDERS.     By  Marie  Corelli. 

A  dramatic  story,  in  which  is  pictured  a  clergyman  in  touch  v/ith 
society  people,  stage  favorites,  simfile  village  folk,  powerful  finan- 
ciers and  others,  each  presenting  vital  problems  to  this  man  "in 
holy  orders  " — problems  that  we  are  now  struggUng  with  in  America. 
KATRINE.     By  Elinor  Macartney  Lane.   With  frontispiece. 

Katrine,  the  heroine  of  this  story,  is  a  lovely  Irish  girl,  of  lowly 
birth,  but  gifted  with  a  beautiful  voice. 

The  narrative  is  based  on  the  fai;ts  of  an  actual  singer's  career, 
and  the  viewpoint  throughout  is  a  most  exalted  one. 
THE    FORTUNES    OF  FIFI.    By  Molly  Elliot  Seawell. 
Illustrated  by  T.  de  Thulstrup, 

A  story  of  life  in  France  at  the  time  of  the  first  Napolepn.     Fifi, 
a  glad,  mad  little  actress  of  eighteen,  is  the  star  performer  in  a  third 
rate  Parisian  theatre.     A  story  as  dainty  as  a  Watteau  paintiuR. 
SHE   THAT    HESITATES.    By   Harris  Dickson.     Illus- 
trated by  C.  W,  Relyea. 

The  scene  of  this  dashing  romance  shifts  from  Dresden  to  St. 
Petersburg  in  the  reign  of  Peter  the  Great,  and  then  to  New  Orleans. 

The  hero  is  a  French  Soldier  of  Fortune,  and  the  princess,  who 
hesitates — but  you  must  read  the  story  to  know  how  she  that  hesitates 
may  be  lost  and  yet  saved. 

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HAPPY  HAWKINS.  By  Robert  Alexander  Wason.  Illus- 
trated by  Howard  Giles. 
A  ranch  and  cowboy  novel.  Happy  Hawkins  tells  his  own  story 
with  such  a  fine  capacity  for  knowing  how  to  do  it  and  with  so  much 
humor  that  the  reader's  interest  is  held  in  surprise,  then  admiration 
and  at  last  in  positive  affection. 

COMRADES.     By  Thomas  Dixon,  Jr.    Illustrated  by  C.  D. 
Williams. 

The  locale  of  this  story  is  in  California,  where  a  few  socialists 
establish  a  little  community. 

The  author  leads  the  little  band  along  the  path  of  disillusion- 
ment, and  gives  some  brilliant  flashes  of  light  on  one  side  of  an 
important  question. 
TONO-BUNGAY.    By  Herbert  George  Wells. 

The  hero  of  this  novel  is  a  young  man  who,  through  hard  work, 
earns  a  scholarship  and  goes  to  London. 

Written  with  a  frankness  verging  on  Pvousseau's,  Mr.  Wells  still 
uses  rare  discrimination  and  the  border  line  of  propriety  is  never 
crossed.    An  entertaining  book  with  both  a  story  and  a  moral,  and 
without  a  dull  page— Mr.  Wells's  most  notable  achievement. 
A  HUSBAND  BY  PROXY.     By  Jack  Steele. 

A  young  criminologist,  but  recently  arrived  in  New  York  city, 
is  drawn  into  a  mystery,  partly  through  financial  need  and  partly 
through  his  interest  in  a  beautiful  woman,  who  seems  at  times  the 
simplest  child  and  again  a  perfect  mistress  of  intrigue.  A  baffling 
detective  story. 

LIKE   ANOTHER  HELEN.    By  George   Horton.    Illus- 
trated by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

Mr.  Horton's  powerful  romance  stands  in  a  new  field  and  brings 
an  almost  unknown  world  in  reality  before  the  reader — the  world 
of  conflict  between  Greek  and  Turk  on  the  Island  of  Crete.  The 
"  Helen"  of  the  story  is  a  Greek,  beautiful,  desolate,  defiant — pure 
as  snow. 

There  is  a  certain  new  force  about  the  storj',  a  kind  of  master- 
craftsmanship  and  mental  dominance  that  holds  the  reader. 
THE     MASTER    OF    APPLEBY.     By    Francis    Lynde. 
Illustrated  by  T.  de  Thulstrup. 

"A  novel  tale  concerning  itself  in  part  with  the  great  struggle  in 
the  two  Carolinas,  but  chiefly  with  the  adventures  therein  of  two 
gentlemen  who  loved  one  and  the  same  lady. 

A  strong,  masculine  and  persuasive  story. 
A  MODERN  MADONNA.     By  Caroline  Abbot  Stanley. 

A  story  of  American  life,  founded  on  facts  as  they  existed  some 
years  ago  in  the  District  of  Columbia.  The  theme  is  the  maternal 
love  and  splendid  courage  of  a  woman. 

Grosset  &  DuNLAP,  526  West  26th  St.  ,  New  York 


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CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

Handsoziely  boniid  in  ckth.     Price,  75  ceatz  per  Toloice,  posipdd. 

THE  KINDRED  OF  THE  WILD.      A   Book  of    Aniinal  Life. 
With  illustrations  by  Charles  Livingston  BuIL 

Appeals  alike  to  the  young  and  to  the  merely  youthful-hearted. 
Close  observation.  Graphic  description.  We  get  a  sense  of  the 
gT-eat  wild  and  its  denizens.  Out  of  the  common.  Vigorous  and  full 
of  character.  The  book  is  one  to  be  enjoyed ;  all  the  more  because 
it  smacks  of  the  forest  instead  of  the  museum.  John  Burroughs  says : 
"  The  volume  is  in  many  ways  the  most  brilliant  collection  of  Animal 
Stories  that  has  appeared.  It  reaches  a  high  order  of  hterary  merit." 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  ANCIENT   WOOD.    Illustrated. 

This  book  strikes  a  new  note  in  literature.  It  is  a  realistic  romance 
of  the  folk  of  the  forest — a  romance  of  the  alliance  of  peace  between 
a  pioneer's  daughter  in  the  depths  of  the  ancient  wood  and  the  wild 
beasts  who  felt  her  spell  and  became  her  friends.  It  is  not  fanciful, 
with  talking  beasts ;  nor  is  it  merely  an  exquisite  idyl  of  the  beasts 
themselves.  It  is  an  actual  romance,  in  which  the  animal  characters 
play  their  parts  as  naturally  as  do  the  human.  The  atmosphere  of 
the  book  is  enchanting.  The  reader  feels  the  undulating,  whimpering 
music  of  the  forest,  the  power  of  the  shady  silences,  the.dignity  of  the 
beasts  who  live  closest  to  the  heart  of  the  wood. 

THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  TRAILS.     A  companion  volume 
to  ihs  "  Kindred  of  the  Wild."       With  48  full  page  plates 
gind  decorations  from  drawings  by  Charles  Livinpfiton  Bull. 
These  stories  are  exquisite  in  their  refinement,   and  yet  robust  in 
their  appreciation  of  some  of  the  rougher  phases  of  woodcraft.  "This 
is  a  book  full  of  delight.  An  additional  charm  lies  in  Mr.  Bull's  faith- 
ful and  graphic  illustrations,  which  in  fashion  all  their  own  tell  the 
story  of  the  wild  life,  illuminating  and  supplementing  the  pen  pictures 
of  the  authors." — Literary  Digest. 

RED  FOX.     The  Story  of  His  Advenlurcus  Career  in  the  Ring- 
,  waak  Wilds,  and  His  Triumphs    over   the   Enemies  of  His 

Kind.     Wth  50  illustrations,  including  frontispiece  in  color 
and  cover  design  by  Chzu'Ies  Livingston  Bull. 

A  brilliant  chapter  in  natural  history.  Infinitely  more  wholesome 
reading  than  the  average  tale  of  sport,  since  it  gives  a  glimpse  of  the 
hunt  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  hunted.  "  True  in  substance  but 
fascinating  as  fiction.  It  will  interest  old  and  young,  city-bound  and 
free-footed,  those  who  know  animals  and  those  who  do  not." — 
Chicago  Record-Herald. 

GROSSET    &   DUNLAP,   Publishers,        -         ^        New  York 


Re-issues  of  tne  great  literary  successes  of  the  time,  library  ^e, 
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THE  CATTLE  BARON'S  DAUGHTER.    A  Novel.  By  Harold 
Bindloss.     With  illustrations  by  David  Ericson* 

A  story  of  the  fight  for  the  cattle-ranges  of  the  West.  Intense  in- 
terest is  aroused  by  its  pictures  of  life  in  the  cattle  country  at  that 
critical  moment  of  transition  when  the  g^reat  tracts  of  land  used  for 
grazing  were  taken  up  by  the  incoming  homesteaders,  with  the  in- 
evitable result  of  fierce  contest,  of  passionate  emotion  on  both  sides, 
9.nd  of  final  triumph  of  the  inevitable  tendency  of  the  times. 

WINSTON  OF  THE  PRAIRIE.    With  illustrations  in  color  by 
W.  Herbert  Dunton. 

A  man  of  upright  character,  young  and  clean,  but  badly  worsted 
in  ti}9  battle  of  life,  consents  as  a  desperate  resort  to  impersonate  fcr 
a  p'^riod  a  man  of  his  own  age — scoundrelly  in  character  but  of  an 
ans.ocratic  and  moneyed  family.  The  better  man  find-,  liimself  biirred 
from  resuming  his  old  name.  Plow,  coming  into  the  other  man's  pos- 
sessions, he  v/ms  the  respect  of  all  men,  and  the  love  of  a  tastidious, 
delicately  nurtured  girl,  is  the  thread  upon  which  the  story  hangs,  it 
js  one  of  the  best  novels  of  the  West  that  has  appeared  for  years, 

THAT  MAINWARING  AFFAIR.      By  A.  Maynard  Barbour, 
With  illustrations  by  £.  Plaisted  Abbott. 

A  novel  with  a  most  intricate  and  carefully  unraveled  plot.  A 
naturally  probable  and  excellently  developed  story  and  the  reader 
will  follow  the  fortunes  of  each  character  with  unabating  interest 
*  *  /;,*  the  interest  is  keen  at  the  close  of  the  first  chapter  and  in. 
creases  to  the  end. 

AT  THE  TIME  APPOINTED.    With  a  frontispfece  in  colors 
by  J.  H.  Marchand. 

The  fortunes  of  a  young  mining  engineer  who  through  an  accident 
loses  his  memory  and  identity.  In  his  new  character  and  under  his 
new  name,  the  hero  lives  a  new  life  of  struggle  |and  adventure.  _  The 
volinre  will  be  found  highly  entertaining  by  those  who  appreciate  a 
thoi^ughly  good  story. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,         -         -         New  York 


FAMOUS    COPYRIGHT    BOOKS 
IN  POPULAR  PRICED  EDITIONS 

Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
size.  Printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  with  illustra- 
tions of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE,  By  Mary  Roberts  Reinhait 

"With  illustrations  by  Lester  Ralph. 
In  an  extended  notice  the  New  York  Sutt  says :  "  To  readers 
who  care  for  a  really  good  detective  story  '  The  Circular  Stair- 
case '  can  be  recommended  without  reservation.  The  Philadelphia 
Record  declares  that  "  The  Circular  Staircase  "  deserves  the  laur- 
els for  thrills,  for  weirdness  and  things  unexplained  and  inexplicable. 

THE  RED  YEAR,  By  Louis  Tracy 

"  Mr.  Tracj^gives  by  far  the  most  realistic  and  impressive  pic- 
tures of  the  horrors  and  heroisms  of  the  Indian  Mutiny  that 
has  been  available  in  any  book  of  the  kind  *  *  *  »There  has  not 
been  in  modern  times  in  the  history  of  any  land  scenes  so  fear« 
ful,  so  picturesque,  so  dramatic,  and  Mr.  Tracy  draws  them  as 
with  the  pencil  of  a  Verestschagin  of  the  pen  of  a  Sienkiewics.'  * 

ARMS  AND  THE  WOMAN,  By  Harold  MacGralh 

With  inlay  cover  in  colors  by  Harrison  Fisher. 
The  story  is  a  blending  of  the  romance  and  adventure  of  the 
middle  ages  with  nineteenth  century  men  and  women ;  and  they  are 
creations  of  flesh  and  blood,  and  not  mere  pictures  of  past  centuries. 
The  story  is  about  Jack  V/inthrop,  a  newspaper  man.  Mr.  Mac 
Grath's  finest  bit  of  character  drawing  is  seen  in  Miliars,  the  bro- 
ken down  newspaper  man,  and  Jack's  chum. 

LOVE  IS  THE  SUM  OF  IT  ALL,  By  Geo.  Cary  ^ggleston 

With  illustrations  by  Hermann  Heyer. 

In  this  "  plantation  romance  "  Mr.  Eggleston  has  resumed  tha 
manner  and  method  that  made  his  "  Dorothy  South"  one  of  the 
most  famous  books  of  its  time. 

There  are  three  tender  love  stories  embodied  in  it,  and  two 
unusually  interesting  heroines,  utterly  unlike  each  other,  but  each 
possessed  of  a  peculiar  fascination  which  wins  and  holds  the  read- 
er's sympathy.  A  pleasing  vein  of  gentle  humor  runs  through  the 
work,  but  the  "  sum  of  it  all "  is  an  intensely  sympathetic  love  story. 

HEARTS  AND  TtlE  CROSS,    By  Harold  Morton  Cramer 

With  illustrations  by  Harold  Matthews  Brett. 
The  hero  is  an  unconventional  preacher  who  follows  the  line  of 
the  Man  of  Galilee,  associating  with  the  lowly,  and  working  for 
them  in  the  ways  that  may  best  serve  them.  He  is  not  recognized 
at  his  real  value  except  by  the  one  woman  who  saw  clearly.  Their 
love  story  is  one  of  the  refreshing  things  in  recent  fiction. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP.  Publishers,     -     -     NEW  YORK 


FAMOUS    COPYRIGHT    BOOKS 
IN  POPULAR  PRICED  EDITIONS 

Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
size.  Printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  with  illustra- 
tions of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

A  SIX-CYLINDER  COURTSHIP,  By  Edw.  Salisbury  Field 

_  With  a  color  frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher,  and  illustra- 
tions by  Clarence  F.  Underwood,  decorated  pages  and  end 
sheets.    Harrison  Fisher  head  in  colors  on  cover.    Boxed. 
A  story  of  cleverness.    It  is  a  jolly  good  romance  of  love  at 
first  sight  that  will  be  read  with  undoubted  pleasure.    Automobil- 
ing  figures  in  the  story  which  is  told  with  light,  bright  touches, 
while  a  happy  gift  oi  humor  permeates  it  all. 

*'  The  book  is  full  of  interesting  folks.  The  patois  of  the  garage  is 
used  with  full  comic  and  realistic  effect,  and  eff ervescently,  cul- 
minating in  the  usual  happy  finish." — Sf.  Louii  Mirror. 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW, 

By  Gene  Stralton-Porter  Author  of  "  FRECKLES  " 

With  illustrations  in  color  by  Oliver  Kemp,  decorations  by 
R^ph  Fletcher  Seymour  and  inlay  cover  in  colors. 
%The  story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self-sacrific- 
ing love;  the  friendship  that  gives  freely  without  return,  and  the 
love  that  seeks  first  the  happiness  of  the  object.  The  novel  is 
brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of  nature  and  its 
pathos  and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 

JUDITH  OF  THE  CUM3ERLANDS,  By  Alice  MacGowan 

With  illustrations  in  colors,  and  inlay  cover  by  GeorgeWright. 
No  one  can  fail  to  enjoy  this  moving  tale  with  its  lovely  and  ar- 
dent heroine,  its  frank,  fearless  hero,  its  glowing  love  passages, 
and  its  variety  of  characters,  captivating  or  engaging  humorous 
or  saturnine,  villains,  rascals,  and  men  of  good  will.  A  tale  strong 
and  interesting  in  plot,  faithful  and  vivid  as  a  picture  of  wild 
mountain  life,  and  in  its  characterization  full  of  warmth  and  glow. 

A  MILUON  A  MINUTE,  By  Hudson  Douglas 

With  illustrations  by  Will  Grefe. 
Has  the  catchiest  of  titles,  and  it  is  a  ripping  good  tale  from 
Chapter  I  to  Finis — no  weighty  problems  to  be  solved,  but  just  a 
fine  running  story,  full  of  exciting  incidents,  that  never  seemed 
strained  or  improbable.  It  is  a  dainty  love  yam  involving  three 
men  and  a  girl.    There  is  not  a  dull  or  trite  situation  in  the  book. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP.  Publishers,     -  NEW  YORK 


FAMOUS    COPYRIGHT    BOOKS 
IN  POPULAR  PRICED  EDITIONS 

Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
size.  Printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  with  illustra- 
tions of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid- 

CONJUROR'S  HOUSE,  By  Stewart  Edward  Wliite 

Dramatized  under  the  title  of  "  THE  CALL  OF  THE  NORTH." 

Illustrated  from  Photographs  of  Scenes  from  the  Play. 
Conjuror's  House  is  a  Hudson  Bay  trading  port  where  the  Fur 
Trading  Company  tolerated  no  rivalry.  Trespassers  were  sen- 
tenced to  "  La  Longue  Traverse  " — which  meant  official  death. 
How  Ned  Trent  entered  the  territory,  took  la  lonpue  traverse, 
and  the  journey  down  the  river  of  life  with  the  factor's  only 
daughter  is  admirably  told.  It  is  a  warm,  vivid,  and  dramatic  story, 
and  depicts  the  tenderness  and  mystery  of  a  woman 's  heart, 

ARIZONA  NIGHTS,  By  Stewart  Edward  White. 

"With  Dlustrations  by  N.  C.  Wyeth,  and  beautiful  inlay  cover. 

A  series  of  spirited  tales  emphasizing  some  phase  of  the  life  of 

the  ranch,  plains  and  desert,  and  all,  taken  together,  forming  a 

single  sharply-cut  picture  of  life  in  the  far  Southwest.    All  the 

tonic  of  the  West  is  in  this  masterpiece  of  Stewart  Edward  White. 

THE  MYSTERY, 

By  Stewart  Edward  White  and  Samuel  Hopkins  Adams 

With  illustrations  by  Will  Crawford. 
For  breathless  interest,  concentrated  excitement  and  extraordi- 
narily good  story  telling  on  all  counts,  no  more  completely  satisfy- 
ing romance  has  appeared  for  years.    It  has  been  voted  the  best 
story  of  its  kind  since  Treasure  Island. 

UGHT-FiNGERED  GENTRY.     By  David  Graham  Phillips 

With  illustrations. 
Mr.  Phillips  has  chosen  the  inside  workings  of  the  great  insurance 
companies  as  his  field  of  battle;  the  salons  of  the  great  Fifth 
Avenue  mansions  as  the  antechambers  of  his  field  of  intrigue; 
and  the  two  things  which  every  natural,  big  man  desires,  love  and 
success,  as  the  goal  of  his  leading  character.  The  book  is  full  of 
practical  philosophy,  which  makes  it  worth  careful  reading. 

THE  SECOND  GENERATION,    By  David  Graham  Phillips 

With  illustrations  by  Fletcher  C.  Ramson,  and  inlay  cover. 
"  It  is  a  story  that  proves  how,  in  some  cases,  the  greatest  harm 
a  rich  man  may  do  his  children,  is  to  leave  them  his  money.  "A 
strong,  wholsome  storj'  of  contemporary  American  life— thought- 
ful, well-conceived  and  admirably  written ;  forceful,  sincere,  and 
true ;  and  intenselv  interesting." — Boston  Herald. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,     -     -     NEW  YORK 

^  „_ ,_.  "   "  ■  -■ 


THE  MASTERLY  AND  REALISTIC  NOVELS  OF 

FRANK  NORRIS 

Handsomely  bound  in  doth.     Price,  75  cents  per  volome,  postpaid. 

THE  OCTOPUS.    A  Story  of  California 

Mr.  Norris  conceived  the  ambitious  idea  'of  writing  a  trilogy  of 
novels  which,  taken  together,  shall  symbolize  American  life  as  a 
whole,  with  all  its  hopes  and  aspirations  and  its  tendencies,  through- 
out the  length  and  breadth  of  the  continent.  And  for  the  central 
symbol  he  has  taken  wheat,  as  being  quite  literally  the  ultimate 
source  of  American  power  and  prosperity.  The  Octopus  is  a  story  of 
wheat  raising  and  railroad  greed  in  California.  It  immediately  made 
a  place  for  itself. 

It  is  full  of  enthusiasm  and  poetry  and  conscious  strength.  One 
cannot  read  it  without  a  responsive  thrill  of  sympathy  for  the  earnest- 
ness, the  breadth  of  purpose,  the  verbal  power  of  the  man. 

THE  PIT.    A  Story  of  Chicago. 

This  powerful  novel  is  the  fictitious  narrative  of  a  deal  in  the  Chi- 
cago wheat  pit  and  holds  the  reader  from  the  beginning.  In  a  masterly 
way  the  author  has  grasped  the  essential  spirit  of  the  great  city  by  the 
lakes.  The  social  existence,  the  gambling  in  stocks  and  produce,  the 
characteristic  life  in  Chicago,  form  a  background  for  an  exceedingly 
vigorous  and  human  tale  of  modem  life  and  love. 

A  MAN'S  WOMAN. 

A  story  which  has  for  a  heroine  a  girl  decidedly  out  of  the  ordinary 
run  of  fiction.  It  is  most  dramatic,  containing  some  tremendous  pic- 
tures of  the  daring  of  the  men  who  are  trying  to  reach  the  Pole  *  *  * 
but  it  is  at  the  same  time  essentially  a  woman's  book,  and  the  story 
works  itself  out  in  the  solution  of  a  difficulty  that  is  continually  pre- 
sented in  real  life — the  -wife's  attitude  in  relation  to  her  husband  when 
both  have  well-defined  careers. 

McTEAGUE.    A  Slory  of  San  Francisco. 

"  Since  Bret  Harte  and  the  Forty-niner  no  one  has  written  of  Cali- 
fornia life  with  the  vigor  and  accuracy  of  Mr.  Norris.  His  '  McTeague' 
settled  his  right  to  a  place  in  American  literature ;  and  he  has  now 
presented  a  third  novel,  *  BlLx,'  which  is  in  some  respects  the  finest 
and  likely  to  be  the  most  popular  of  the  three." — Washington  Times, 

BLIX. 

"  Frank  Norris  has  written  in  « Blix '  just  what  such  a  woman's  name 
would  imply — a  story  of  a  frank,  fearless  girl  comrade  to  all  men  who 
are  true  and  honest  because  she  is  true  and  honest.  How  she  savwi 
the  man  she  fishes  and  picnics  with  in  a  spirit  of  outdoor  platonic  friend- 
ship, makes  a  pleasant  story,  and  a  perfect  contrast  to  the  author's 
*  McTeague.'  A  splendid  and  successful  story."— Washington 
Times. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,         -         -         New  York 


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